#roll on this new chassis because i am glad it is HIM asking for these changes and ticking off what may or may not be wrong

[blamemma]

Daniel Ricciardo discussing the new chassis he will receive at the Chinese Grand Prix

#daniel ricciardo #dr #china24 #nah sit down cause i got things to say and i barely ever post articles anymore so ya know this is important #the waaaaaaaaaaay this post enragedddddddddd me #we obviously all remember when daniel had a great weekend in mexico and the next week mclaren were changed his steering wheel #or whatever?????? like im not saying they were purposefully sabotaging him but why was this a pattern of behaviour???? #why were they changing things after weekends he did well???? #BAFFLING TO ME SO FUCKING BAFFLIGN. #roll on this new chassis because i am glad it is HIM asking for these changes and ticking off what may or may not be wrong #but god everyday i find another reason to burn the mtc down.

[brokenjardaantech]

eternity

summary: six times allen celebrates connor's birthday (and one time he doesn't)

happy birthday, connor.

also on ao3

2038:

The first birthday Allen spends with Connor isn’t as much of a celebration.

An android killed its former owner and kidnapped a girl, said girl’s life is on the line because the android is standing at the edge of the roof ready to jump at the smallest hint that it’s going to be hurt, and now he’s supposed to wait for a prototype android which he didn’t even know about until a few minutes ago to take over the situation as a test? This is directly against Allen’s ethics, but seeing that command has declined his request to reclaim control over the situation multiple times, nothing short of the new android malfunctioning on spot would change their mind. Helplessness is an emotion he’s familiar with, but it doesn’t mean that he’s used to it. He also doesn’t mean to yell at the new android - Connor, model RK800 - but he does anyway before taking cover behind a toppled table where he can see every single one of his still standing teammates in the penthouse, with every single second Connor wastes wandering around the apartment bringing up his anxiety up a notch. He uses the time to get the paramedics, threaten the press to get the fuck out of there so that they don’t agitate the android outside even further with the transmissions and chopper noises. It is only when he’s done with all of the above that Connor goes outside, and within the penthouse, he orders the entire team to change formation, ready to strike when the situation calls for it.

He certainly doesn’t expect Connor to defy the PL600’s wishes and save the cop lying on the side. He also doesn’t expect it to dismiss the chopper, but then again, he also saw the android take the gun under the table even though its programming should prevent it from doing so, so for it to be able to do the impossible… maybe there is a chance for tonight to end on a relatively positive note.

Until Connor decides that the best course of action is pulling the girl towards itself so that it can use the momentum to push the PL600 off the edge, sealing its fate as the domestic android unloads an entire clip of bullets into its body.

Half the squad rushes forward to access the damage as soon as the magazine is spent, and as Allen kneels down on Emma’s side to shield her from the sight of thirium gushing out from the bullet wounds on Connor’s body, he can’t help but notice the LED on its temple spinning red a few times before going dark.

So much for a successful test.

---

2039:

Considering the circumstances, Allen isn’t sure if it’s appropriate to celebrate Connor’s first birthday, but it also feels wrong not to when Connor is now a permanent fixture in his team and it’s Allen’s job to keep track of the wellbeing of his teammates, so after thinking the idea through for a few days, he decides to get the android something small and functional.

What propels him to include a fidget ring in the package, he has no idea. Probably because his brain only focused on the ‘small, subtle and functional’ part of the fidget instead of the ‘ring’ part of the equation when he ordered the thing, but it’s too late now, he’s already walking towards Connor’s desk and Connor has noticed him, and turning back will be weird at the least and rude at the worst; the android has enough problems finding his place in the team enough it is. He places the paper bag containing the assortment of fidgets on the edge, observing the way Connor’s gaze travels along with it before looking up and meeting Allen’s gaze.

‘What is this?’ Connor asks.

‘I don’t know if you celebrate it but…’ sometimes Allen does wonder how much of his social skills stem from what he calls his SWAT Captain override, ‘I got you something for your birthday.’

‘Androids don’t have birthdays, Captain.’

‘Your activation day, then. It’s fine if you don’t want to accept it; I don’t even know if you do the birthday thing and -’

Allen somehow becomes too focused on rambling that he doesn’t notice Connor pulling the bag towards himself and examining its content. A small tub of slime, two fidget cubes of different dimensions, a small bubble fidget, and finally, the ring. The room is silent save for the hum of electronics and the sound of fingers hitting the projected keyboard on their desks, and no one bats an eye or turns around to see what’s going on as Connor tries every single one of the fidgets on spot and then setting them aside; when it comes to the ring, Connor first takes it between his fingers and gives it a few spins, then rolls it on his fingertips in a way slightly different from that he used to play with his coin, and then slides it onto his left pinky. He smiles at Allen. ‘Thank you. They’re all wonderful.’

Something shifts within Allen but he can’t pinpoint what exactly it is. Seeing that his task is done, he says, ‘I’m glad that you like them,’ and returns to his office for more paperwork.

---

2041:

Allen intended to make getting drinks a yearly thing for Connor’s birthday, but his plans get scrambled as soon as he realises that he can’t contact the android in any way. He’s neither reading his messages nor accepting any calls, which isn’t Connor’s usual habit, and as the day approaches its end and midnight tickles by, he starts to worry. They promised to celebrate together this year, so where has Connor gone now?

He dares not sleep even after getting home, his cats splayed in various positions around him while he anxiously switches from show to show available on the subscription service on the TV, and he forces himself to drink a small can of coke so that the caffeine will keep him awake for a few more hours as he shoots message after message to both Connor’s phone number and internal contact. Not panicking is an easy thing, him having mastered the art of forcing himself to calm down even in the direst situations since he was young - at least, that’s what he tells himself.

The trembling in his hands tells a different story, but it can simply be the caffeine.

His doorbell rings at 3 am, and when he opens the door, Connor is standing outside like a lost puppy. He smells weird, his posture slack in a way Allen has never seen before, but Allen admits him anyway, standing to one side to let the android go through the door and take off his shoes, his thoughts flying back to the present he prepared for Connor that now sits in a package on his coffee table. ‘Where have you been?’ he can’t help but ask. I was worried, he wants to add, but no use doing that now; Connor is safe in his house, and it’s all that matters.

Connor suddenly swivels around and stares at the human intensely. It is a look Allen sees often when he goes to bars and decides to mingle with the crowd, but never one that he reciprocates because he just isn’t interested or attracted to random strangers; with Connor, however, things are slightly different, and he finds himself frozen in an unfamiliar emotion as the android scans him from head to toe. Anticipation.

‘Looking for you,’ Connor replies in the end, and the next moment Allen finds himself being pushed up against the wall and the taste of warm water and plastic on his lips, on his tongue, in his mouth as something hard pokes at his hip.

An inhuman hiss from somewhere close to the ground reminds him that he’s still in the living room and it’s hardly a good place to do… whatever Connor is planning to do, even though he has a slight idea on where the night will go, and he pushes the android off himself as soon as he feels his lungs burn. ‘Bedroom,’ he orders breathlessly, and he doesn’t wait for Connor’s response before scooping him up by his thighs and carrying him upstairs. He doesn’t keep anything related to sex in his house - masturbating does fuck all for him and his previous relationships were never long enough to make him attracted to his partner - but as soon as he gets Connor’s trousers off and discovers that the android is, in fact, self-lubricating, he sweeps his worries to one side and focuses on giving Connor what he seems to want right now. He isn’t ashamed to admit that they fucked like bunnies. Connor moans so deliciously while he bounces on Allen’s dick, and when his movements get too arrhythmic to be pleasurable for either of them, Allen simply flips them over so that Connor is underneath him and ploughs into him like there is no tomorrow. He’s surprised when the skin on his cybernetic leg deactivates to reveal plastic not unlike Connor’s chassis; he’s surprised to find that Connor orgasms easily, the android shuddering apart multiple times before the thought of approaching his own orgasm even crosses Allen’s mind; he’s even more surprised at himself that he has the endurance despite having gone without sex for years.

In any case, he ends up coming in Connor’s arse and collapsing on top of the android with a groan that is quickly swallowed by Connor pressing his lips against his like they’re his lifeline. Then he gets up, tells Connor to get up to take a shower as well so that he can quickly strip the bed and change into new sheets, puts the dirty sheets into the washer-dryer, and then takes a shower himself after the android is done. He forgoes most of his usual sleeping attire and settles for a pair of boxers instead, but nothing prepares him for Connor putting on his old clothes as if he’s prepared to leave. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Back,’ is Connor’s too-fast reply as he struggles with the buttons of his shirt. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t wish to impose.’

‘You aren’t,’ Allen lies down on his usual side of the bed and pats the empty space next to his body. ‘You can stay if you want to.’

Connor freezes. He looks… lost. ‘You don’t mind?’

Allen tries to soften his expression. ‘Why would I?’

That seems to do the trick, and Connor strips until he’s also only in his underwear and settles down next to the human without touching him. Allen tucks them in, reaching around to make sure that the blanket is wrapped snugly around both of them, and he lets himself drift despite the questions he has in his mind: where did Connor go? Why did Connor choose him? Why did he not answer his calls and messages? Why did he seem to forget that today - or yesterday now, technically - is his birthday?

His train of thought is interrupted by Connor scooting closer almost hesitantly, and he places a careful arm around the android’s waist to show that he doesn’t mind it at all even though his still-bare cybernetic leg tickles slightly from getting into direct contact with someone else’s skin. Connor seems to take it as permission to plaster himself against him and even tucks his face into Allen’s neck. He hears a wet sniff, and instead of mentioning it and pushing the subject, he runs his hand through Connor’s hair and pats his back with another to offer him comfort, the repetitive movements lulling him into sleep quicker than he expects. Faintly he hears Connor breathing a small ‘thank you’ before pulling away and turning to hug the human’s arm.

The last thing Allen remembers before darkness claims him is kissing Connor’s forehead sleepily.

---

2042:

It took Allen a few months and a few more heart-to-hearts in their privacy of his home to get the whole story out of Connor, and by the time Connor’s fourth birthday rolls by, he realises that they’ve been dating for a bit more than a year. His sister once told him that he’s the type of boyfriend who will go all-out for his partner if he ever dates, and standing in front of the mirror trying to fix his tie, he finally realises how right she is.

He is distracted quickly, however, when he tries to fix his hair and finally notices that he still isn’t greying at all.

Shaking his head to clear his head - his boyfriend’s birthday is hardly a suitable time to have an existential crisis - he focuses on making himself immaculate for the date he arranged for Connor a month prior. The android let slip that he wanted a more traditional date, so even though Allen knows that Connor can’t eat human food, he picks a restaurant where thirium is also served so that they can both consume something before going back to Allen’s and actually celebrate with the sweetest words and the wildest sex. He just hopes that Connor likes his gift for this year which, when compared to the previous ones Allen has given him, seems insignificant and bland on the surface.

The logical part of his mind tells him that Connor isn’t a shallow person, but it doesn’t mean that the part that always feels disappointed in himself no matter what doesn’t have a say in the situation.

Their date is a quiet affair, Allen too jittery to have much of an appetite and Connor too occupied by people watching to talk to his boyfriend, and the frizziness of the glass of sparkling water he ordered for himself doesn’t help calm his nerves. He doesn’t know if Connor keeps track of his vitals or if the android cares, but by the time he’s done with his salad, he feels like he’s about to melt on spot from sheer pressure.

Calm the fuck down, Captain, he tells himself as he holds the glass and tries not to tap his nail against it. Just pretend that this is a new proposal. Proposal. Ha. Maybe not that quickly, you old man.

‘Having fun?’ he finally gathers enough courage to ask. This is their first line of dialogue in more than twenty minutes. ‘I hope you like this.’

Connor slowly takes a sip of his thirium. Then he reaches out, takes Allen’s hand in his own, rubs the human’s scarred knuckles. ‘I do. Exactly what I need, as always.’

Allen blushes. ‘It’s your birthday,’ he answers, and it falls lame even to his own ears. He clears his throat. ‘Speaking of,’ he reaches into his pocket with his free hand, takes out the key, and places it next to Connor’s hand, ‘happy birthday, Connor.’

The android doesn’t let go of his hand as he pulls the key closer towards himself. In Allen’s lowly opinion, the assortment of keychains - a tiny St Bernard sculpt, a heart-shaped charm made out of silver wires with a blue crystal suspended in the middle Allen might have spent hours perfecting, a hollow circle of iridescent metal - is more important visually than the key itself, but all he can think of right now is whether Connor understands the implication behind the gesture or not, and if he will accept Allen’s offer.

Connor gently rights the St Bernard keychain and pats its head with his finger. ‘Is this what I’m thinking of?’

Captain override, captain override. ‘A year ago, you came to me in the middle of the night for comfort. Since then, we’ve become more than colleagues, more than friends,’ he doesn’t realise how hard he is squeezing the android’s hand until he pauses. ‘You’ve moved most of your stuff to mine anyway so… I think we can make it official. Living together, I mean.’ When Connor doesn’t reply at all, he scrambles, ‘You told me that you never liked living in those Jericho-managed flats and it didn’t feel right to live at Anderson’s either after -’ he watches Connor’s expression closely - ‘after Sumo died so… yeah. I know it isn’t much of a present to invite you to live with me because you’re already doing it most of the time, but I think it’ll -’

‘Come here, silly human.’

Reaching across the table, the android cups the human’s cheeks and pulls him in for a quick kiss before releasing him and settling down in his seat. ‘Of course I will,’ he says, beaming. ‘We deserve it.’

‘“It?”’

‘Being together.’

Allen can’t help but giggle. Maybe he isn’t the only sappy one among them, after all. ‘That we are,’ he clangs his glass against Connor’s in a small toast. ‘That we are.’

---

2045:

Allen doesn’t even remember it’s going to be Connor’s birthday soon until it’s too late. Too busy recovering from a traumatic mission which resulted in the deaths of most of his team and his two right limbs, his life in the past few months consists of trying not to die by trying to stay awake, more physical therapy than a normal human should have but since he’s got top-of-the-line cybernetics in his body - whatever that means, he doesn’t feel any different apart from the fact that his new prosthetics don’t like obeying his head - it’s supposed to accelerate instead of hinder his recovery, and debating whether he should retire at the age of 50 and become a househusband worrying about his android husband’s safety every day he goes to work. On a good day he still looks 40, so he really isn’t sure if he really can’t return to his former duties after his right arm and leg finally listen to him. Maybe physically. Mentally, he’s just all over the place.

The ring hanging from a chain he wears around his neck is sometimes the only thing keeping him going.

He can’t help but groan as he hears someone barge into his room in what seems like early morning but is probably sometime closer to noon. He is still tired from the eight-hour physical therapy session yesterday, and his muscles are aching all over even after a bath and a full night’s sleep. The world can wait. ‘I assume you aren’t Connor,’ he lays his arm on his eyes and squeezes his right fist. Constant exercise. ‘I’ve got no therapy today, so please let me rest.’

‘Today is also the fifteenth of August, Allen,’ it is Nines’ voice who answers him. ‘Do you remember what date it is, or has your recovery forced you to devote most of your brainpower to keeping yourself afloat?’

It does feel like that sometimes, Allen wants to say, but for the sake of his future brother-in-law(ish), he wrecks his brain trying to remember what’s special about today. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Fucking mother of -

‘Shit!’

He scrambles to sit up just to forget that his right arm still isn’t quite in sync with the rest of his body and promptly bangs his forehead against the bars on the sides of the hospital bed, and though he’s grateful that Nines is immediately at his side helping him sit up properly, staying in bed is the last thing he wants to do; it’s Connor’s birthday, for fuck’s sake, and he’s going to get him something even if it means delaying his release from the hospital.

‘Hey, slow down,’ Nines pushes him onto the bed. ‘We have seven hours to get everything done.’

‘It took me a week to plan everything last year,’ Allen complains. Seven hours is not enough. ‘And why seven?’

‘The time now is ten in the morning and Connor will get off work at five. Including travel time, you’ll have roughly seven hours to think of something for his birthday - if you’re up to it. Your temporary discharge papers are ready; I have Connor’s permission to kidnap you out of the hospital.’

‘Hell yeah,’ Allen tries to cheer himself up. ‘Lead the way.’

Hours go by, and his enthusiasm is beaten down bit by bit as the sun changes angles and he realises that no matter what he does, nothing seems good enough. He thinks of getting a thirium cake, and he remembers that he already got one for Connor the year before and Connor didn’t even like it after the novelty wore out; he thinks of making something for his fiancé, and he remembers that his fingers aren’t the most coordinated things in the world right now; he thinks of taking Connor to dinner, and he remembers that all he can offer is crappy hospital food and thirium that the android probably doesn’t even need. He wants to cry but he’s too tired from being baked under the sun to do so, therefore all he can do as he waits for the traffic light to turn green is sit in his wheelchair and feel his eyes water.

‘You know Connor will be happy with whatever you can give, right?’ he knows Nines is trying to comfort him, but it’s never about Connor’s expectations, no; it’s always been about himself, his desire to give and show that he loves Connor, and now he can’t even do something special on a special day. ‘He’s looking forward to spending his time with you.’

‘In the fucking hospital? Save it,’ he doesn’t mean to snap at the android and instantly feels guilty about it. ‘I’m sorry. I just -’

I just want to do something special for him.

Nines is either ignoring him or has already forgiven him. Allen doesn’t know which one is worse. ‘I have a suggestion, if you may.’

He sighs. ‘Shoot.’

Instead of telling him directly, Nines brings him to the craft store and purchases a balloon in the shape of a thirium pouch. The shop helps them inflate it, and Nines ties it to one of the armrests so that it won’t float away while they go back to the hospital. ‘That’s it?’ Allen’s curiosity finally bubbles through when he’s greeted with the familiar scent of his hospital room. ‘A blood bag balloon?’

‘I can write a message on it if you want.’

Allen muses over the idea. He doesn’t think he has a lot to say, but it’s a birthday after all, and there are certain scripts that he can stick to when composing a message to Connor. ‘I’ll write it myself,’ he decides in the end. ‘Give me a marker, can you?’

‘Can you?’

‘Can I what?’

‘Write.’

‘It’s good practice.’

It is hard to hold a pen when your nerves aren’t listening to your brain. It’s hard to write. It’s even harder to write on a curved slippery surface. By the time Allen is done with ‘HAPPY,’ his prosthetic hand is smudged in ink and his right shoulder already needs a break, but he feels accomplished. It feels… doable.

‘Now do “birthday,”’ Nines orders.

Allen compares his current handwriting size to the space available to him. He shortens the word to ‘BDAY’ instead and adds his signature underneath afterwards, and he holds it in front of him so that he can examine his handiwork. Not as good as he expected, but that will have to make do given the time and resources. He just hopes that Connor likes it.

‘I’m sure my brother will like it,’ Nines reassures as if reading the human’s thoughts. ‘He loves you, after all. Now take a nap; you’ll want to be at full strength when he arrives.’

Allen falls asleep to the balloon drifting somewhere above his head. When he wakes up, Connor is there with him, playing with the edge of the balloon while staring at the human’s handwriting as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. He’s still tired physically, but his heart soars with the knowledge that his gift is well-received.

The fact that the balloon later has a place on the wall of their house after it’s deflated makes him happy.

---

2055:

For Connor’s seventeenth birthday, he books himself a full-body biocomponent replacement appointment. ‘You told me to treat myself,’ he said to Allen when the human asked him why he picked that day to do so. ‘So I’m treating myself.’

‘By replacing your organs?’

Connor propped himself in Allen’s lap and kissed him. Hard. ‘So that we can have an eternity together, dumb human.’

Allen didn’t bother correcting him that he’s more bot than human now, his cybernetics having taken over much of his biological functions to make him essentially immortal, but it was nice to pretend once in a while, and now that he is witnessing Connor being prepped for an android equivalent of full-body organ replacement surgery. If everything goes well, they’ll have the entire evening to themselves to get used to and explore Connor’s new biocomponents, but if it doesn’t…

Guess they’ll have to delay the celebrations to the day after. That’s all.

‘Anything you want to say to each other before we put him under?’ the tech asks.

Allen moves closer to Connor’s bed so that he can hold his hand. ‘I’ll be waiting outside,’ he tells Connor. ‘Just shoot me a message if you’ve got something to say.’

Sure thing, Connor replies directly through an interface, and it’s something Allen is still getting used to. Or I can just do this.

‘Whatever suits you.’

They dare not waste what precious time they have, so Allen leaves after kissing Connor one last time before the start of the procedure. Spending half a day watching his husband’s biocomponents being ripped out carefully and replaced with new ones and his thirium being completely replaced with fresh ones isn’t exactly what he has in mind, but nonetheless he’s glad that he is here today.

It means they’ll have an eternity together.

~~~

21??:

Not today, dumb human.

Allen lowers his hand back to his side and focuses inward so that he can talk to Connor better. Since Connor’s consciousness was uploaded to his brain as a last-ditch effort to save his soul, they’ve shared the same body ever since, and while they can retreat to their shared headspace to do whatever they want, Allen still has a physical body to maintain, there is so much to explore now that humanity is no longer bound to a floating rock called earth, and the two of them frequently goes out with either one of them handling the body and the other riding along and see the world through the same pair of eyes. Right now Allen is in control of the body, and it only takes a glance at the calendar to remember that today is Connor’s birthday.

Or at least, it used to be.

We picked a new birthday, remember? The day we merged? We don’t even use the same calendar anymore.

Allen has to pause and think. Right. He shrugs, goes to the other section of the store to pick out something for Connor anyway because he’s set on spoiling his soulmate anyway, birthday or no. It's also a good day to remember where they came from.

Who knows this will be our destiny? Connor chuckles, and Allen finds the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as well. Separate but also as one. When we met in that penthouse.

Allen pays for the things and exits the store. The world ahead curves upwards, the sky a flat but realistic projection of what a morning sky should be on earth. An artificial breeze brushes his face, and it smells like flowers, like the purified rain that will no doubt sweep across where they are standing soon.

It’s unexpected, he admits, but I’m glad that it went down this way.

Me too, Allen.

Connor wraps his consciousness around Allen’s like the perfect blanket, weighing just enough to give him a sense of safety and keeping him warm but not suffocating. The fifteenth of August may not be Connor’s birthday anymore, but it’s a day Allen will remember for a lifetime, an eternity. A habit that he will never break even though the original date is already lost in the river of history. It makes them happy.

And it’s all that matters.

#conallen #dbh connor #dbh captain allen #dbh rk900 #detroit: become human

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 18 - Coming Undone

Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron, Ratchet Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 2359

( Previous )

Tick tock, the time traveled on—too fast for comfort. 

Sunstreaker didn’t make a move in any direction though. He didn’t announce his pregnancy to the Autobots any more than he told Ratchet about Megatron. And even when the months rolled onward… Megatron didn’t make good on his threat.

But it was anxious waiting, knowing that any single moment the tyrant could. He had no way of knowing, and he doubted he would get any warnings.

He only had to wonder what method Megatron would use to decisively destroy Sunstreaker’s life (further than he already had, anyway). Megatron did everything decisively. There was no reason to think Sunstreaker would be any exception, once Megatron set his mind on him.

Or on the sparkling, rather. Sunstreaker doubted it mattered one bit who the carrier happened to be, just that the sparklet was Megatron’s. What had been the tyrant’s options? Give no fucks and let Sunstreaker do whatever he wanted with it, demand that it be terminated, or… As he had seemingly chosen, enforce his claim and rights to it.

Regardless of what Sunstreaker thought about that.

Was any of this more than a ploy to get Sunstreaker to his side, because that would, by extension, bring the sparkling to him? There had never been any emotions involved in their liaisons, had there? At least there had been none on Sunstreaker’s part—other than lust and thrill, anyway. Physical things, the enjoyment of each other’s frames…

But nothing about emotions.

He highly doubted it was any different for Megatron.

Of course, then that whole thing had led to the creation of new life, and didn’t that complicate things fast and hard. Now Sunstreaker by all appearances mattered, if only because he was the carrier. Still, that was probably the depth Megatron’s caring went, and he’d turn back into nothing but a pretty fling once he’d delivered the sparkling.

That didn’t particularly motivate him to take Megatron’s offer and defect. He had very little hopes of a future among the Autobots… But did he have any more of a future among the Decepticons, once the sparkling had separated?

Weeks went on.

Months.

Megatron never stopped trying to pressure him into some alone time with the tyrant, as much as battles were his only opportunities to even do so, these days. They still didn’t take the longest, riskiest patrols, nor did they stray far from the Ark or populated areas on their time off.

But Primus, the battles. He could hardly focus on the actual battle from the miniature one he had with the Decepticons no doubt ordered to get him within Megatron’s reach. Half the time it didn’t even look like Megatron was interested in being secretive about it—which made sense, considering he’d already threatened to make everything public.

He didn’t know if he was getting paranoid, or if the other Autobots—on top of Ratchet—started to suspect something was up. Was he getting more looks than usual? Did Prowl look a bit more calculating than he always did? Was Jazz frowning behind his visor?

Pits, was he imagining it all or not?

He knew he wasn’t helping matters himself, though. He had barely let up on his bad attitude since they had discovered the sparkling, and for even him to continue with the bad blood for this long… It wasn’t usual. His moods were supposed to fluctuate. 

Now it was always one word away from tearing into everyone.

Primus bless Sideswipe. His brother was the only one that kept him from glitching slagging weekly, always removing him from situations that were threatening to turn too stress inducing, playing the buffer between him and the rest of the world.

No one needed to know how close to snapping he now came on the regular. Ratchet though… He was pretty sure Ratchet suspected.

He got slagged practically every battle, all thanks to the ‘Cons paying way too much attention to him. That naturally landed him into Ratchet’s care.

And whenever he was brought online, Ratchet gave him a look. It could be just about the sparkling… But it could also be about the fact more strings of old, long dormant code were starting to online as the fucking stress in his life kept continuing.  

He wasn’t particularly stable anymore, was he?

It could also be that Ratchet was among those who supposedly noticed the ‘Cons treating him a bit different nowadays. That they for sure slagged him while trying to get him to do as they—Megatron—wanted of him, but never to the point where his life would’ve been at risk. Megatron’s doing too, no doubt. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to his precious sparkling.  

More than once he could feel Ratchet desperate to ask him things, no doubt wanting to know the identity of the sparkling’s sire that he still had absolutely no plans of disclosing.

But Ratchet didn’t outright ask, just talked about other medical things and—when there was no one else around to overhear—updated him on the sparkling’s health and progress.

Everything was going as it was supposed to, on that front. It was doing fine and growing stronger by the day.

One thing he didn’t have to worry about.

Everything else was plenty enough.

--------------------------------------------------------

“You’re avoiding me.”

He started and spun around on his heel as soon as the voice sounded behind him—that voice, his voice. 

Just in time to block the sword that would’ve generously cut into his chassis otherwise.

Sunstreaker swapped his gun for his own sword.

“Damn straight I am,” he hissed back, jumping back from Megatron’s next attack only to strafe to the side and cut into the goddamn mech’s arm when it moved to block the strike of his sword.

Then he was jumping back again. Megatron was relentless.

Apparently they both had some frustrations to air.

“The slag you’d expect after that stunt with Ravage?” Sunstreaker continued, keeping his volume low enough that no one would overhear them. The din of the battle around them at least worked to drown out their voices.

“I wouldn’t have needed to send Ravage if you hadn’t avoided me even before that,” Megatron growled at him. Sunstreaker barely got out of the way of another vicious attack.

Huh. It was almost like Megatron was trying to kill him.

“You sent Soundwave in your place because you were busy,” Sunstreaker snarled right back, returning each and every one of Megatron’s attacks with equal force.

There was no way he was going to let Megatron slag him without slagging him right back. 

“I have a war to win,” came Megatron’s argument.

Not valid enough. “And I’m carrying your fragging sparkling!” Sunstreaker growled out as quietly as he could. That was one thing he wanted no one else to hear. “I think that affords me some additional importance, you fragger.”

“I sent Soundwave because I trust him.” Megatron narrowed his optics at him. “I could have sent anyone else, too.”

“So that’s supposed to make me feel important?” Sunstreaker went back to hissing. Was it clear enough he wasn’t impressed?

Megatron growled at him and his next attack came with such speed and ferocity that Sunstreaker couldn’t avoid the deep cut across his chestplates. He grunted, then glared.

The tyrant already had a topic in mind to discuss next, though. “You haven’t told the Autobots yet.”

“Nor will I,” the twin promised.

“You want me to do it?”

Slagger. “Frag no,” Sunstreaker snarled. “They have no slagging business knowing.”

“They will find out eventually,” Megatron reminded him. “At the very least when your dear medic informs them. Is that what you want?”

“No!” Fraggit…

“It’s you, me, or the medic, Sunstreaker. You can’t hide it forever,” the warlord rumbled at him. Listing his options. Three, now? Wow, wasn’t that a lot.

Three flavors of fucked. 

“Go fucking frag yourself!” This time he didn’t say it quietly, in the way of something that was meant to stay just between them. Oh no, everyone could hear how much he hated the damn mech, as far as he was concerned. Let that become public knowledge.

“It is mine, too,” Megatron reminded him of that fact for good measure, although he had the decency to continue to keep his volume low.

Aside from the angry revving of his engine. 

Neither of them was enjoying this conversation very much, were they?

“Leave me the slag alone, you fragging bastard,” Sunstreaker growled, successful in cutting a deep gash on Megatron’s abdomen.

Denial—wasn’t that a lovely thing. How long could he deny that he couldn’t hide the sparkling forever?

How long could he deny Megatron’s right to it? 

How fragging long would Megatron let him get away with that?

“Megatron!”

...That was probably the first time in his life Sunstreaker was glad for Optimus’ interruption. He disengaged from the warlord when the Prime came barreling to the scene, ending their conversation right there and then.

Well, at least unless Megatron decided now would be a good moment to inform Optimus of what Sunstreaker had been up to behind his back. 

But the tyrant merely snarled at his nemesis and let Sunstreaker retreat from the scene. He slipped back into the rest of the battle, taking out his mounting frustrations on the tyrant’s troops.

---------------------------------------------

He landed in Ratchet’s care after the battle, of course he did. Ratchet was… Surprisingly quiet as he worked on him.

He had also suspiciously left Sunstreaker as the last one to be repaired, even though he wasn’t convinced he was the worst injured. The medbay was now empty aside from him, Ratchet, and Sideswipe.

It had both him and Sideswipe edgy, his brother standing next to the wall with a frown on his face and arms tightly crossed across his chassis. Sunstreaker wished he could have copied the posture, but Ratchet was welding his chestplates back together, undoing the slash Megatron had left on him—that had, coincidentally, cut straight through his insignia.

Or had that been Megatron’s intent? A bit of a hint for him?

Either way, he’d need to repaint it once all of his pieces were put back together. His chestplates were the last thing, so that would be very soon. 

It turned out, though, that he and Sideswipe were right to feel a bit apprehensive. Ratchet cleaned up the weld mark after he was done and made sure his chassis’ transformations still worked–

–And then he leaned on the berth next to Sunstreaker, staring not at Sunstreaker, but at the space between his braced arms.

All was quiet for a tense moment that was only filled by the sounds of their three frames… Then Ratchet spoke up. “It’s Megatron, isn’t it?” he asked. Both twins started, although really… Shouldn’t they have seen this coming?

Everything that had been happening, the Decepticons’, Megatron’s increased interest in him during the battles… And the latest battle where the warlord actually managed to corner him. If it was suspicious to everyone, how much greater indicators would they be to someone who already knew he was carrying? For a Decepticon?

But Ratchet continued with, “Was he the one to force you?”

...That probably shouldn’t have surprised them either. It would be so unlike Ratchet to think the worst of them, and if he thought it was Megatron… Well, would anyone deny Megatron had all the strength required to force even a warrior of Sunstreaker’s caliber? And that he was cruel enough to do so, too?

It didn’t matter what Ratchet thought, though. The truth was what it was, and the truth was that Sunstreaker had been a willing party the whole way.

He couldn’t blame this on just Megatron. He shared equal fault, and he could lie… But just as easily could that lie be proven wrong.

So what was he going to lie about? About who the sire was, or about the method of the sparkling’s conception?

Or would he tell the truth?

“Megatron?” Sideswipe asked incredulously, drawing the attention of both Sunstreaker and Ratchet. His brother blinked at the medic. “Why would you think it’s slagging Megatron of all mecha?”

Ratchet frowned. “Do you want me to list all the reasons for why I think it’s him?”

Sunstreaker growled. “Thanks but no thanks. It’s not Megatron, alright? Primus, Ratch.” 

So. How about he lied about both the sire and the circumstances of his ignition? That was going to work out great for him, right?

Ratchet’s frown deepened, though Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if it was because they told him he was wrong about the sire, or because they didn’t deny that Sunstreaker hadn’t been a willing party in the whole damn affair.

“Sunstreaker–”

“I’m fragging done discussing this, alright?” Sunstreaker snapped, throwing his legs off the berth and getting up. He was repaired already, wasn’t he?

Now all there was to do was repaint the insignia of the faction he had shown thorough disloyalty to.

How much longer would he even be allowed to wear the Autobrand?

How much longer did he want to wear it?

“This whole deal? Doesn’t concern anyone but me,” he continued in a growl. “So mind your own fucking business. Please.” 

Ratchet stared at him for a moment longer, and Sunstreaker glared back. Sideswipe took a step away from the wall, but–

Things didn’t explode, because Ratchet’s shoulders slumped. “Three months, Sunstreaker,” he said, quietly, and Sunstreaker knew exactly what he was counting down to.

Three months until Ratchet would check the spec ops’ records, compare the sparkling’s signature to known Decepticon signatures, and find a match in Megatron.

After they had just said it wasn’t him.  

Sunstreaker clenched his jaw, felt Sideswipe’s question of what to do–

And doubled down. “Whatever, Ratchet. Whatever.”  

Ratchet sighed, heavily, but Sunstreaker ignored that and instead headed for the door. He hadn’t been given permission to leave, but slaggit, he wasn’t staying either.

Not if this was what they’d be talking about.

But Sideswipe glanced back at the door… And Ratchet was still leaning against the empty berth, but now with his optics tightly closed and his face twisted in an expression they rarely ever saw the stalwart medic wear.

Pain.

The doors slammed shut behind them.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadams #sunstreaker #sideswipe #megatron #ratchet #fic #2020 #ashes of icarus #ashes

[canadian-riddler]

The Girlfriend Part Six.

Synopsis: Claptrap knows this relationship is worth it.  Now he’s just gotta convince her of that.

AO3 || fanfiction.net || Wattpad

They had some really good sex after that.

He wasn’t sure what had changed, exactly, but if someone had made him guess he would’ve said she had actually started getting into it.  She kinda hadn’t, before, as though it was some sort of thing she needed to do but didn’t really like doing.  She seemed cool with it now, though.  It was so good, in fact, that the last time he’d actually had to stop her because he’d thought he was gonna pass out.  Both of those things were kinda embarrassing, but he’d had to make a snap decision there and he had really not wanted to crash in front of his girlfriend for a reason like that.

He’d expected her to get mad about it, or annoyed at least, but she was neither!  She just asked what was going on, and when he told her she laughed for about three straight minutes.

“You’re uh… taking this surprisingly well,” said Claptrap, and she tilted her core in a really adorable way and said,

“Aw.  Was I too much for you?”

in such a way that it instantly became the sexiest thing he had ever heard.  He didn’t even realise he’d zoned out there until she said his name a little louder than she usually talked.

“Huh?” he asked, unable to remember what he’d been doing.

“You stopped responding for a minute.”

“Oh,” he answered.  “Yeah, I uh… gotta admit, you’ve gotten pretty intense.”

“Have I?” she asked, sounding amused.  

“Ohhh have you ever,” said Claptrap.  “You went from the bare minimum to the whole nine yards.  I’m not complainin’, but you are a lot… um… more than me.”

“I thought that was part of why you liked me so much.”

“It is!” he said insistently, even though she didn’t sound bothered in the slightest.  “C’mon, babe, we’re comparing a windmill to a nuclear power plant here.”

“Your power isn’t generated by a windmill,” she said, laughing.

“And yours isn’t generated by a nuclear power plant!  It was an – “

“Actually, it is,” interrupted GLaDOS.  “It is generated by a nuclear power plant.”

He stared up at her, dumbfounded.  “… well this place has got just about everything, hasn’t it.”

“Just about,” said GLaDOS, as though she’d taken the question very seriously.

“But no mirrors,” Claptrap said.  “I have not seen myself in weeks.”

“Why would you want to?” GLaDOS asked.  “You look the same as you did when you first came here.”

He shrugged.  “’cause I like looking at myself?  Don’t you?”

“The thought has never crossed my mind.”

“To… to look at yourself?”

“Yes,” said GLaDOS, nodding. “I have no idea what I look like.”

Claptrap wasn’t even sure how to process this news.  How did someone live their whole life without knowing that?  “Really?”

She shook her core.  “There isn’t really a means for me to do so.  I also have no idea where my blueprints are.”

“Well… if you want, we could… I could show you.  I’ve got uh… pictures.”  She probably already knew about that, but he’d heard stories about guys who did that kinda thing without their girl’s permission, so he hadn’t exactly been motivated to just bring it up.  She considered him for a long moment, then shook her head again.  

“No.  I’d rather not.”

“But why?”  Ohhhh.  Ohhhh, wait. “You’re not worried that you’re gonna hate what you see, are you?  ‘Cause it’s pretty great, I promise.  I tell you you’re hot all the time ‘cause you really are, not just ‘cause I want you to have sex with me.”

“Oh, no,” GLaDOS said. “I mean, think about it.  I’m the best at everything, so logically I must also be the best-looking, too.  No, it’s because no matter what I do end up seeing, it will never match whatever it is you see.”

That sounded all smart and deep and stuff.  Must’ve been why he didn’t get it.  “Huh?”

She looked off to the side, to give herself a minute to think maybe.  “I like having you tell me, without having anything to compare it to. You said I was the most beautiful girl in the universe.”

“You are!”  She didn’t think he’d been lying, did she? But she just nodded once.

“Exactly.  That’s all I need to know.  Seeing what I look like will just ruin it.  I’m happy being told what you think without actually knowing what you’re talking about.”

“Aw, honey-RAM,” Claptrap said.  “That’s –“

“Also, I don’t care,” interrupted GLaDOS with finality, and then she told him it was time for one of his shows and if he wanted to watch it he had better shut up and pay attention.  He did want to do that, but he also really wanted to know how you could just not care what you looked like.  He wanted to know so bad that he just could not pay attention and asked, “GLaDOS, why don’t you care?”

“Hm?”

“About what you look like? How can you not care?”

“Oh,” she answered.  “It’s not important.  That’s why I don’t care.”

“How is it not important if your chassis is the thing that made me want to come here in the first place?” Claptrap asked.

“You are the one who placed value on my appearance,” GLaDOS told him.  “Not me.”

… oh.  That did make sense.

“Neither my knowing nor my caring would have changed what you did,” she continued.  

His next question he wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer to, but he said anyway, “Do you… think I’m handsome?”

“Yes,” she said without pause, which helped a lot, “but since I can’t see you most of the time anyway I’m not sure why that matters.”

“It just… makes me feel better about myself,” he mumbled to the floor, rubbing the hand he had on her core in a wobbly circle.  “But you don’t get it ‘cause you don’t care.”

“A fact you should be very glad of,” GLaDOS declared, “because I wouldn’t be half so attractive to you if I had your non-existent self-esteem.”

“So… I don’t get it.  I’m stupid, I hate myself, and you only know where I am half the time by the sound of my voice, which we both know isn’t the most soothing thing in the world.  What exactly do you see in me?”

She didn’t answer for a long time.  Then she turned to look at him and said,

“There are two things in particular: you’re extremely patient and you’re quite a lot of fun.  When spoken out loud, they don’t seem like much, but in practise… they’re very important traits for you to have.”

“Fun’s one thing,” said Claptrap, “even if no one’s ever used that word to describe me before. But patient?  Isn’t that kinda… boring?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now,” GLaDOS told him, “that I am very stubborn and reluctant to change.”

“I noticed that like… the first week,” Claptrap said.

“Exactly.  Most people would have given up.  You didn’t.  You were willing to wait.  And before you tell me you did that because you don’t exactly have a lot of options, that doesn’t matter.  All that matters is that you did make that decision.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with that.  Him? Patient?  He’d chalked a lot of this up to ‘desperation’, himself, but… she’d literally just said that she didn’t care about his perception of himself. She didn’t even care about his perception of her.  She just… made all her decisions without caring about any of that.  The only things that mattered were what made sense to her.

That was… kinda a cool way to live.  He couldn’t even imagine the kind of balls it had to take to not give a damn about what anybody else thought.  About anything.  It almost seemed like… a superpower.  But at the same time, wasn’t it… a good thing to care what people thought of you? Just a little bit?  Because if you didn’t, then weren’t you… super biased? He had no problem with GLaDOS being a big fan of herself, but if she cared even a little bit what he thought, then… wouldn’t that make her even better?  Him caring what she thought had definitely made him a little better, because it made him want to – wait a minute.  If she didn’t care at all, why had she even brought up that he’d said she was the most beautiful – aha!  She totally cared.  She just didn’t want him to know that.  Because… because she was ‘very stubborn and reluctant to change’, and if he knew he had gotten her to change her mind the tiniest bit, she thought he’d try to make her do it more often.  

Maybe it even really did matter that he was handsome, and she just didn’t want to admit it. Because that would mean she did care, which she wanted to pretend she didn’t do!  Yeah.  Yeah, that sounded right.

Man, them together were really like… the two extreme opposites of the same person.  How long would they have to hang around each other before they kinda… met in that middle she’d talked about way back when?  Would he even last that long?  Maybe they’d be kinda in sync one day but right now… right now they were still pretty far apart.

Well… he’d been pretty patient so far.  He could stick it out for… however long he had to.

“Do you want me to turn this off?” GLaDOS was asking, and he jumped back around so he was facing the monitor and put his hand back where it belonged on the side of her core.

“Nope!  I’m watching!”

He had a few shows to catch up on and she usually didn’t let him watch them all at once, but when the first one ended she put the next one on without saying anything at all.  That was certainly weird, but he decided to just roll with it and not say anything either.  

“Claptrap,” GLaDOS said very casually after about ten minutes, “suppose I did love you.  Just a little bit.”

Oh damn.

He really wanted to start telling her how great that was and how much he loved her, but he made himself think about what she’d said when he’d said it: she didn’t want it to be a big deal.  The way he wanted to react to her saying it was the total opposite of what she wanted him to do.  So he wasn’t gonna do it.  He was just going to… to do what she would have done if she hadn’t freaked out.  She would’ve been calm and reasonable and chill about it.  So he was gonna be calm and reasonable and chill about it.

“That’d be cool, I guess,” Claptrap said, shrugging.

She nodded to herself in what seemed to be satisfaction, and he felt super relieved, as though he’d passed some sort of test.  A test he kind of… felt like he didn’t want to have passed.  Claptrap had a girlfriend that loved him.  And instead of being super happy and excited about it like he really, really wanted to be, he had to just… pretend he didn’t care.

Well… she had said ‘just a little bit’, so… so maybe he’d be able to be happy about it later. When she really meant it.  By the time she was ready, she’d be cooler with him making a big deal out of stuff.  He just had to keep on being patient.  He could do that.  He knew he could do that.

Trying to keep all those thoughts to himself came back to bite him later, though, because they were just chilling and playing video games when it really got to him just what a great life he was having and how awesome it all was and how he’d never thought he’d have anything like this.  One second he was just next to her, trying his darnedest to beat her in the race onscreen even as she taunted him with the fact she could effortlessly hold the perfect line every time, and the next he was crying.  Oh, s***.  He tried to stop before she noticed, which was pretty gosh darn impossible because as soon as he started she paused the game and just looked at him.  

“I’m okay,” he said, even though he knew that wasn’t gonna fly with her.

“You’re… crying.”

“Yeah.”  He put down the controller and did his best to clean out his eye.  “I dunno why this happens.  It just does, sometimes.  It’ll go away in a minute.”  He hoped.

“That’s a strange feature.”

“Sure is,” he said, hoping she would shut up about it because even thinking about crying made it worse.

“Are you sad?”

“No!” he protested, finally looking at her.  She didn’t think this was her fault, did she?  Well, it was.  But in the best way ever.  “No, babe, I’m crying because I’m happy.”

“Why would you cry if you were happy?” she asked, sounding confused, and he really didn’t know how to answer that because he didn’t get it either.  He shrugged and wiped at his eye again, mostly to give his hands something to do.

“I dunno.  I’ve never been this happy before.”

“Oh,” GLaDOS said, very softly.  “Would you… do you want a hug?”

“Really?” he said, hardly able to believe his luck when she nodded, and man it felt so good. But the flip side was that he started crying again, and he didn’t wanna cry on her so he was gonna let go, really he was, but then she pressed herself into his chassis really hard and that just made it worse.  Now he had to hug her as hard as he could because she was just trying to hard to be nice even though she probably hated this, like, a whole lot, and gosh he just loved her so much and she made him so happy…

He really hoped she would just let him hug her for a while until he’d got a handle on all that stuff.  Because it was a lot.  Kinda scary, actually, like if he let go of her it would just kinda overwhelm him something awful.  He wasn’t sure what that would do, but it probably wouldn’t be good.

“This won’t last forever, you know,” GLaDOS murmured.  

“What?” Claptrap asked, horrified even though he knew they really couldn’t hug forever.  

“I’ve been doing some reading,” GLaDOS said.  “Relationships start like this.  Where everything is perfect and new.  But it doesn’t last.  Things turn sour.  Quirks become intolerable.  What once was neutral ground becomes a warzone.  Even your favourite things about the other person begin to feel insufficient.  All honeymoons draw to a close.”

What… no.  No no no.  It sounded like she wanted to break up, but… she couldn’t!  What was she even talking about!?  This was never going to end!  She was perfect and he was… well… that wasn’t important.  He pushed away from her in a panic.  “What’re you trying to say?” he demanded.

“I’m saying,” GLaDOS answered, “that the next stage of this relationship will be hard. Perhaps too hard.”

“For… who?” he asked, utterly confused.  “You just told me how patient I was!  Babe, I’ve done harder stuff than this!  I mean, this has been super hard, but only ‘cause I’ve got so much to lose!  I can totally stick it out if you work with me! We’re supposed to be a team, right? Isn’t that how this kinda thing goes?”

“Yes,” answered GLaDOS, “but sometimes the victory is worth less than what was lost in the battle.”

… what?

“What battle?” he said in a panic.  “We’re not fighting, are we?  We never fight.”

“Not yet.”

“Not…”  He drew his hands closer, the abject terror coursing through his system making it hard to work out what all her innuendo was supposed to mean this time.  Why was she saying things were gonna be hard and they were gonna fight and it wasn’t gonna be worth it?  Where was this even coming from?  What had he done wrong?

Maybe… maybe he hadn’t done anything.  Maybe it was that thing about them being opposites.  He was happy to love her and to be loved by her, but… she wasn’t. It bothered her.  Maybe… maybe it scared her, even.  Because she couldn’t control it.  It was just a thing that was happening, and she couldn’t turn it off or make it go away or turn it into something else.

That was when he got it. She wasn’t trying to break up, not really.  She was preparing for it.  She was asking him to bail now, when it was good, instead of waiting until it got bad and deciding he wanted out then.  If it had to end, she wanted it to end now.  When it was good, and when it had always been good, and to keep that from ever, ever changing.

Maybe she was right.  Maybe he should go, and leave it all like this, and they would both be sad but it would always be perfect, just like it was now.  Where he still thought her insults were funny and she still liked the fact that he didn’t shut up.  The quirks, as she’d put them.  They could preserve this forever.  Like a treasure.  Close it away and keep it safe.  It would be over, but it would never be ruined.  They would never have the chance to ruin it.

“No,” Claptrap said.

“No what?”

“I want you to yell at me,” Claptrap said, even though he absolutely didn’t.  She was scary when she did that.  “I want you to get mad at me, and… and tell me bad stuff about myself, and ignore me just to be a dick, and kick me out of the room ‘cause I won’t shut up. I want you to do all those things.”

“Why in the world would you want that?” GLaDOS asked incredulously.  “Claptrap, that’s – “

“Because I love you,” Claptrap cut her off, “and that means all of you.”

“But you haven’t seen all of me yet.”

“I know it’s hard to tell, but I’ve been on my best behaviour,” said Claptrap.  “So… samesies.”

“But what if it turns out not to be worth it?”

Well, of course it was worth it.  Even if she dumped him tomorrow – literally dumped him into the incinerator – it had totally been worth it.  He couldn’t think of a single thing he’d ever done any other time in his life that was more worth it.  He shrugged. “I don’t really do what-ifs.  I just kinda… do.”

“And then have regrets after the fact.”

That gave him such a bad feeling.  “Why would you say that?  Do you regret me?”

“Yes,” said GLaDOS.  “Yes, I do.”

Damn it.

“But I also don’t, at the exact same time,” she continued, which went a long ways to making him feel maybe all wasn’t lost.  “And I hate it.   I hate it a lot.”

He folded up his arms and tried to think.  The answer was in there, somewhere.  His powers of deduction were… flighty at best, but when he managed to wrangle them he usually got it right.  Hm.

She did and didn’t regret him.  She did and didn’t know what he was.

She did and didn’t want life to take him back.

He had it!

Her problem was not knowing! Not knowing if it was worth it, or how she felt, or what they were!  She didn’t know and she hated that!  As a logic machine who needed to know everything, that would be tough for her. But he didn’t need to know anything!  It would all just… balance out!  Like a… like a thing that balanced!  For once he’d figured this out before she had!

“Don’t worry about it!” he told her in earnest.  “Babe, we are totally different people and I know that.  But I also know we make a great team!  We’re gonna get to know each other better and yeah, it’s gonna be messy.  But c’mon! Even if it gets super bad real soon, we’ll already know we’re capable of being super good!  We’ll just have to stick that s*** out together! That’s what love’s all about!”

“I don’t know if I love you that much,” GLaDOS said.

Claptrap’s chassis sank, and he looked down at the floor and pressed his hands together very hard, forcing himself not to say anything.  He’d had his turn to talk and now he had to respect what she wanted.  Even if he didn’t want it.  It was already killing him a little inside to think that he’d have to leave and he would never see her or talk to her or hold her ever again, but if he loved her – if he really, honestly loved her the way he kept telling her he did – then he would have to do it.  He would have to go and not come back.

“That’s okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t.  “Look, GLaDOS, I… I don’t want to go.  But if you… if you really need me to, I will.  I’ll just… I’ll go home and you’ll never hear from me again.  I won’t be that creepy ex who just can’t accept that it’s over.  I’ll just go back to Pandora and… and that’ll be it.  I swear.”

“If you did that,” said GLaDOS, and he had to turn his optic off in order to keep holding himself together. “… then… I’d never know.”

… huh?

“I don’t know what it is you’re feeling, or if I even have the capacity to get there,” she continued, “but I think…”

He looked up at her, just a little bit.

“… I think I’d like to take the chance to find out.”

“Really?” he said, before he could stop himself.  “You’re not dumping me?”

“I’m not dumping you,” she said.

“We’re staying together?”

“Yes,” she said.  “We’re staying together.”

He threw his arms around her and held onto her as hard as he could, and this time he didn’t even cry. She was still and quiet, but he could hear her thinking and it scared him a little.  If she changed her mind…

… then he would suck it up.

She was rubbing her optic assembly against the side of his chassis just a little bit, but even though it was barely happening it still felt really nice.  She’d never done that before, so… so she must’ve realised how scared he was.  And he really was.  He was still terrified that telling her he loved her had been some kinda tipping point and it was all downhill from there.  But she seemed to want him to feel better, so… so he didn’t have anything to worry about.  It was all okay.  They were okay.

“I lied,” GLaDOS said suddenly.  

Oh God.  Oh God did he ever want her to shut up.  Even if her voice was so sexy it almost had the ability to solve his stupid glitch all on its own.

“I love you more than a little bit,” she went on, “but I wish I didn’t.  I wish I’d never done this at all.”

It was time for him to shine.  And by ‘shine’, it meant he had to think of that perfect, offhand thing to say that would both reassure her and cheer her up.  He furiously ran through all the stuff that’d gone on today, and after a minute he came up with it.

“Time for you to learn a little somethin’ from me, babe,” he said, letting go of her and lifting his chassis so he could kiss her as high as he could.  “No what-ifs and no regrets.  Let’s just do this thing!”

“If I regularly followed that kind of logic, we’d be living inside of a radioactive crater,” said GLaDOS, “but I suppose it can’t hurt this once.  What the hell.  Let’s do it.”

“That’s my girl,” Claptrap said, and he was so happy about the fact that he did have a girl, not just for now but possibly forever, that he didn’t even care when GLaDOS sniped the hell out of him for an hour and a half in the next game she put on just because she thought it was funny.

#GLaDOS #Claptrap #Portal 2 #Borderlands #ClapDOS #fanfic from Indy

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 51

None of us slept well. At the first sign of morning, we made our way toward the Old North Church. Danse, Preston, and I compared notes on the Mechanist’s robots; they’d encountered a group of them on their way east from Sanctuary. I described meeting Ada, and explained that robobrains might hold the key to tracking down the Mechanist.

“Robo-what?” Preston asked, his eyes wide.

“Robobrain,” Danse said, as if it should be obvious. “Before the War, they were supposed to be the next generation of robotic soldier, but they were never fully implemented into the Army. They’re multi-purpose robots, with programs stored inside an organic brain contained in a domed shell atop their chassis.”

“They’re disgustin’,” Cait said.

“Sounds like it,” Preston said, indeed vaguely disgusted by the idea.

“How do you know about them, Danse?” I asked, surprised.

“They’re not an uncommon sight in the Capital Wasteland,” he said. “The Brotherhood Outcasts used them. Some were repainted in Brotherhood colors when Elder Maxson brought the Outcasts back into the fold.”

“Outcasts?” I asked.

Danse nodded, “They thought Elder Lyons, Maxson's predecessor, had lost sight of the Brotherhood's true mission. He was too focused on aiding the local populace. The Outcasts saw themselves as the true Brotherhood, devoted to the recovery and preservation of advanced pre-War technology instead of charity.” Preston made a sound. Danse looked at him, “You would hate them, Garvey.”

“Yeah, I would,” Preston stated. “And they had these robobrain things?”

“Since they couldn't increase their numbers through recruitment, they supplemented their forces with a variety of combat robots. Robobrains may appear clunky, but they are more durable, accurate, and dangerous than any protectron.”

“Even more so now that the Mechanist has modified them,” I said.

Cait grumbled, “Covered in armor, with a… what did ya’ call that sparky arm thing?”

“Tesla coil,” I supplied.

“That shite,” she nodded. “Not to mention all the other walking scrap piles fightin’ with it.”

“The main problem with fighting robots is they never know when to surrender,” Danse said.

“That’s the main problem?” Preston asked, skeptical and surprised.

“Of course. Robots aren’t much of a challenge otherwise; they’re so predictable.”

“I disagree,” I laughed. “At least, the ones we fought held no discernible pattern of combat I noticed, but then again I was preoccupied with keeping my limbs intact.”

“And yet,” Danse said with some amusement, “you consistently refuse to wear power armor.”

“How would I achieve any of my infiltration and stealth work in armor?” I said with a grin, glad to see Preston’s fond eye-roll at his soldier.

“So,” Preston cut in, “Nick’s with this Ada you mentioned? The robot with the plan to find this Mechanist person?”

I nodded, “He is.” I switched on my Pip-Boy’s radio and tuned to the Valentine Agency signal. No messages were there, so I switched to Radio Freedom. My companions remained silent as I attempted to ascertain the status of my partner. There was indeed an alert, but not exactly what I was expecting to hear.

 “You’re listening to Radio Freedom, Voice of the Minutemen. We have a special alert! Keep an eye out for a robobrain near the Mass Fusion building. General Holmes needs a piece of it to track down whoever has been making the robots terrorizing the Commonwealth. If you confront it, be careful! It’s keeping dangerous company.”

Preston cranked a charge into his musket, “Guess that’s us, huh, General?”

“I wasn’t aware that I needed a piece of another robobrain,” I started, and then I realized what must have happened. “Oh, the beacon,” I hurried forward, “I hope we’re not replacing the first one, but I presume this is Valentine and Ada’s doing.”

“Mass Fusion is still a Brotherhood outpost,” Danse stated.

I nodded, “I know. Let’s hope Maxson’s agreement to work with the Minutemen regarding the robots extends to his men on the ground.”

Cait scoffed, “Assumin’ he told anyone in the first place.”

“She’s got a point,” Preston muttered, then he said, “General, unless you got a way to fly or sail across the bay, we aren’t going to get to Mass Fusion in time.”

“I'm aware, but what else can we do? We’ll make it as far as we can.”

We made it as far as Bunker Hill before we needed to stop and rest. Danse and Preston took advantage of Mr. Savoldi’s bar while I asked Old Man Stockton if he could inform our mutual business partner I would be arriving with guests. He said if he saw them, he would let them know.

Cait initially wandered toward the bar, but soon joined me as I purchased some ammunition, a bottle in her hand. “That Danse fella sure knows how to make a girl feel welcome,” she sarcastically commented.

“I wouldn’t waste time flirting with either of those soldiers,” I said.

She smacked her forehead, “Fuckin’ idiot, of course.” She helped herself to the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, “Don’t get excited, I know you ain’t interested, either.” She lit her cigarette and walked with me back toward the bar, “You’re worried about the brain on wheels gettin’ away, aren’t ya?”

“Yes.”

She drew deep from the cigarette and drank from the bottle, “We could just keep movin’.”

“My men are tired and, though I am loathe to admit it, so am I.”

“I’ve got somethin’ that could fix that—”

“No.”

“If it’s so damn important that you get this piece," she demanded between gulps, "then why not?”

“Do not tempt me, Cait.” I breathed deep, and when I spoke again I sounded level, “Please. I know how easy it would be. That’s why I can’t.”

“You’re not makin’ any sense.”

She sounded honestly confused. So I honestly replied, “Once that door is opened again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to close it.”

She huffed, exasperated. “Where is Mass Fusion, anyway?”

“South of here, north of Goodneighbor. The gentlemen who run the bar here also rent a space to sleep. We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

Cait was gone at sunrise. Preston and Danse had noticed her missing, but hadn’t thought much of it. She’d purchased some chems, they assumed she was somewhere using them. The traders around Bunker Hill were unhelpful, though one mentioned he saw her going for a walk. We had no choice but to continue on.

A few hours later, she found us.

“Here,” she said, hurrying up to me out of breath. “This the thing?”

She handed me a device identical to the one I took from the first robobrain. The implications terrified me. “Cait. What did you do?”

“You’re welcome!” she scoffed, offended. “I went down and grabbed the thing, what the hell do you think I did? I had a bit of trouble makin’ sure I wasn’t leavin’ anything behind, but I had to work fast what with them Brotherhood bastards roamin’.”

“It seems complete.”

“Look, if you’re worried about me startin’ somethin’ you have to clean up later, don’t. They didn’t see me. The robobrain was just lyin’ there, along with all the other piles of scrap. Looked like the Brotherhood had been doin’ clean up of their own all day, so they weren’t about to start scavenging.”

“I’m not worried about the Brotherhood.”

She was startled, “Oh. Now don’t be dumb, might as well use what you’ve got, right? You needed it, I got it for you, because you couldn’t. Gonna be a mite twitchy today, but what else is new? But, uh. I figure this makes us even.”

My concern shifted to confusion, “Even?”

She nodded, “I’m stayin' behind. You don’t need me. I’m not ungrateful," she hurried to add. "You've been damn decent to me, which is more than I can say for most people in me life, but I feel pretty damn useless runnin’ next to you with those soldier boys. I’m used to lookin’ out for number one, you know? Your circle keeps gettin’ bigger and bigger. I like you, you don’t take any shite from anyone and I respect that, but I don’t want to be just a hired hand, tagging along because I have to keep bullets off you. And that's the way I see this headed.”

"I understand," I said, and it was true. "Where are you going to go?"

"Figure I’ll head down to Goodneighbor. I can find work that suits me there," she said, and then she smiled. "If you ever want to get piss drunk and pick a fight, come find me."

I shook her hand, “If you ever need assistance, whatever it may be, come find me.”

"Pff, I doubt you'll feel that way if I ever show up at your door, but thanks." She walked away.

“Too bad she didn’t stay,” Preston said.

“Really?” I was surprised. “I thought you’d be glad to see her leave.”

He shrugged, “Honestly, I am. But, at the same time, you’ve got a way of helping folks if they just stick around long enough.”

“She knows where to find him,” Danse said.

“If she lives that long.”

I sighed, “Our priority right now is to get to the Church without the Brotherhood realizing where we’re going. If Maxson was telling the truth and they really have discovered the location of the headquarters, then it is imperative they do not see us step inside it. We don’t want to announce that the Railroad has been warned. If Maxson was bluffing, then it is even more important that we not be discovered.”

“Then we wait for night and proceed under cover of darkness?” Danse asked.

I shook my head and lead the way, “We don’t have time. Instead, we’re going in the back door.”

I led them to the Railroad’s escape tunnel, all of us taking cover at every sound of a vertibird’s engine. Waiting for us inside the tunnel was a particularly formidable woman with white hair holding a minigun.

“Ah, Glory. Good afternoon.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” the Railroad agent demanded.

“I have to speak with Desdemona. It is important.”

“You think you can bring a soldier in power armor through our back door and not raise any eyebrows?”

I frowned, impatient, “Considering I’m attempting to save you and everyone else’s life, yes as a matter of fact I do.”

She thought about debating me for a solid three seconds. “Fuck. Fine, hurry up.”

We followed. As we entered their headquarters, Glory announced, “The power armor was with Detective! Or General, whatever you want to call him. Says he needs to see Dez.”

Desdemona was in her usual place at her table, looking over reports. “General. Stockton told us you would be coming. He didn’t mention you’d be bringing a suit of power armor with you.”

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Danse,” I introduced him.

Danse removed his helmet, “Had I known my presence was going to incite panic, I would have left my armor at the door.”

“We’re constantly spied on by Brotherhood of Steel soldiers, you understand we’re a bit cautious when it comes to suits of armor outside,” Desdemona said.

“Caution can often be misinterpreted as hostility.”

“I think a little paranoia is justified in her line of work, Danse,” Preston said.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“The man’s sense of humor is drier than the Mojave,” Deacon said from the corner. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, a pompadour wig on his head and the same sunglasses as always. “But to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Desdemona rolled her eyes, “We don’t have time—”

“You don’t have time for anything right now,” I interrupted. “Elder Maxson claims to know where you are located. The only reason he hasn’t ordered an attack is because he knows the Minutemen would immediately retaliate, because of my association with your organization. I believe he wants to strike firmly at once, and obliterate the Minutemen and Railroad as one.”

Everyone had gone silent, listening closely.

“Maxson is likely putting his soldiers in place as we speak,” I continued. “You have to evacuate. The Brotherhood only know of one location for certain, assuming they aren’t bluffing in the first place.”

“And may I ask, General,” Desdemona spoke carefully neutral, “why the Minutemen haven’t shot the Prydwen out of the sky by now?”

"There are children on board.”

Desdemona blinked. “Children.”

“They’re called Squires. It’s not their fault they were born into the Brotherhood, raised among its ranks, and brought to the Commonwealth.”

She sighed, "This is war. Collateral damage—"

“Is never acceptable," I fumed. "Do not presume to lecture me about war, madam. I have seen first hand its horror wrought on the world, both before and after the apocalypse it birthed. It should be avoided at all costs, and yet remains a tragic product of human nature." I forced myself to calm, "That’s why I need Deacon.”

“Boss?” Deacon asked, unreadable.

“I need you to get those children off that damn ship.”

For the first time, his falsely modest charm was grating, “Hey, as flattered as I am by your faith in me to infiltrate the Brotherhood base of operations—”

Danse spoke over his objection, “I still have my Brotherhood of Steel uniform back at Sanctuary. It won’t fit you perfectly, but if you move quickly and with purpose you won't be questioned. The Squires remain on a strict schedule that I don’t imagine Lancer-Captain Kells will have seen any reason to alter. They’re accustomed to following orders, and are often assigned to a soldier for the day to observe them in action. There are only a few of them, but even so the greatest difficulty will be bringing the whole group out of the airport without being questioned.”

Deacon was quiet a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, I’ve gone into ops with less.”

Danse smiled, small but approving. “I can give you any intel you need regarding the layout of the Prydwen and the airport,” he turned to Desdemona, “provided your leader approves.”

Desdemona stopped the protest that had been forming on her lips and glared. Glory spoke, “We don’t have time for this. If our position is compromised, our first priority is getting everyone out of here.”

“Glory’s right, Dez,” Deacon said, “we gotta get everyone out of here for now. But you don’t need me for that. Holmes isn’t going to fire on the Prydwen without at least trying to get those kids out of there, and right now the Minutemen are our best hope. We’ve lost all our other windows of opportunity. I’ll go in, find the kids, try to get them out, and if I can’t, I’ll blow the place to hell.”

Danse’s jaw clenched at the sound of that, but he said nothing.

“Where are you going to take them once you get them off the ship?” Desdemona asked Deacon.

“Uh… away?”

“Cambridge,” Danse said.

Deacon was alarmed, “Whoa, what?”

“Someone needs to disable the communications dish in Cambridge, or else the Brotherhood will be able to contact the Capital Wasteland for reinforcements.”

“So you want me to deliver a bunch of kidnapped Brotherhood kids into their western base and then say 'mind if I look at your dish?' Man, this mission just keeps getting better and better.”

"If it were easy, Deacon,” I said, “anyone could do it. You are one of the Railroad’s best.”

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Detective. Ok, that's a lie.” Deacon turned to Tinker Tom, “Hey Tom, before the Institute became an irradiated swimming pool, you were working on the vertibird thing, right? You ever figure out how to fly one?”

The Railroad’s inventor nodded, “In theory. Never had a chance to practice, for obvious reasons.”

“Good enough, just give me all you got. I’ll figure it out as I go. Can’t be too hard, right?”

“Vertibird thing?” I asked.

“We were going to hijack a vertibird, get onboard, set some explosives, and blow the Prydwen out of the sky,” Deacon explained. “Harebrained scheme, but I had high hopes for it. Then the Institute exploded and we suddenly had a bunch of panicked synths to look after, so Operation Red Glare was abandoned. Oh, I won’t need your old uniform, Danse, we nabbed a couple already.”

Danse's voice was strained, "I'm not a pilot, but I can at least tell you if there are any grievous errors in your… research."

Tom gestured to his desk, "Step into my office, my man."

Desdemona regained command, "Alright people, while Deacon helps the Minutemen with the Prydwen, the rest of us have to get out of here. Standard evacuation, take only what's necessary. There haven't been many patrols reported over the Boathouse, we have to hope that it hasn't been discovered. We’re going to move everyone out in waves through the day.”

She detailed the order of evacuation, and the Railroad Headquarters became a whirl of activity. Danse, Tinker Tom, and Deacon remained in tense discussion. Deacon seemed to know how much Danse hated the idea of handing his former home over to a Railroad spy, and kept somber. Preston and I helped with the preparations when we could, and tried to stay out of the way when we couldn't.

In a few hours we'll make our departure.

#fallout 4 #fan fiction #danse #preston #cait #deacon #the railroad #the minutemen #the mechanist #sherlock holmes #crossover

[bran-writes]

Farm Boy Blues Ep. 1 “Welcome Home, Sunny:” Pt. 2

Sunny climbed out of the Dyson Security car, bag in tow, and stretched carefully. He took stock of everybody out on the sidewalks. There were throngs of people crossing the street towards him, not particularly minding him at all. A couple sat down at a patio coffee shop table and a family of four piled into a minivan down the street. Food stall vendors offered their choices as the meals were cooked in front of waiting patrons. Everything seemed normal- just as Sunny had left it four months ago. The sun beat down on him as the smell of Courier Street assaulted his nose. 

Baking bread. 

Lamb meat.

Strong coffee.

Gourmet popcorn. That was exactly where Sunny was headed. He thanked the security guard and closed the car door before gingerly slinging his bag on his shoulder. Sunny crossed the busy street to Diane’s Eatery, coming upon a woman and her kids walking out with small bags of gourmet popcorn. The woman attempted to corral her two children who weren’t giving her a lick of attention until she snapped her fingers. Smiling, Sunny reached out and held the door open. 

“Thank you,” the woman sighed, rolling her eyes, “Come on kids, don’t make this man hold the door open all day. Move your boots!”

A shriek came from inside Diane’s Eatery and Sunny’s head snapped up, instantly recognizing the owner of the shrill voice. “Mama! Sunny’s here!”

Twelve year old Lacey bounded over the sales counter past a shocked old man laying his money down and sprinted towards Sunny before he had time to even get all the way inside. The girl threw her arms around Sunny and held tight, laughing. 

“Woah, woah, Lace, chill out,” Sunny laughed through the pain of her head smacking his stitches. He wanted to curse out in pain, but he was overwhelmed with joy from seeing the kid. Eh, the pain can wait, Sunny thought to himself. 

Lacey’s bright red hair was tied in a ponytail so it was easy enough for Sunny to playfully tug it. “Hey, stop,” she laughed. The girl looked up at Sunny with a big smile- a smile he’d seen so many times over the years but never got old. “I knew you’d come back!”

“Oh of course,” Sunny scoffed, “did somebody say I was gone for good or something?”

A chorus of kids yelling Sunny’s name pulled him away from his adoptive little sister and before he knew it, the rest of his adopted siblings were bounding from the back of the store- many of them still wearing their backpacks. 

“Ah, what- who let you heathens out of school early?!”

There were four kids(besides Lacey) who gathered around for hugs. 

Pete with the glasses.

Johnell with the mohawk. 

Amber with the braids.

And of course, Tiny Dalton. 

Sunny hugged them all one by one and asked where Mama Diane was. As if summoned by the mention of her name, the owner of the shop and the woman who’d shown Sunny love when nobody else would, appeared from the back with a big smile on her face. 

Diane Haines looked immaculate for her age. Rich brown skin, deep brown eyes with dark freckles underlying them. Her shining curls were outlined in white strands- the only byproduct of time that was visible on the fifty year-old woman as of yet. Sunny smiled at her over the other kids and instantly felt like he was fifteen again, coming home from a day of work. The world droned away while she approached and for the first time since crossing the gate, Sunny was truly glad to be home. 

“Hey, mama,” Sunny winked.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Diane chuckled, weaving through her other adopted kids to hug Sunny. He wanted to cry when he smelled her perfume. He hugged her back tightly, ignoring the pain in his chest. “I told them you’d be back,” she winked at him. 

“Back home? Can’t keep me away,” Sunny laughed. 

“Okay kids, break it up,” Diane waved at the children. “Lacey, back on the register until Stevie gets back from lunch, please. Everybody else, homework. Right now. You’ll get time with Sunny when you’re done.”

“Yeah, I’m back, guys. You’ll get your chance to hang out and ask me a bunch of annoying ass questions, I promise.”

Diane smacked his arm, “Don’t cuss at my babies.”

The kids dispersed- Lacey back to the register while the others grabbing seats in the corner of the restaurant to peel their backpacks open and get started on their homework. 

Diane’s Eatery was a well-known little snack shop on the East Side of The Rows- a large, older and less hi-tech section of Dyson City. The shop was most celebrated for it’s array of gourmet popcorn from the bar where you could get as many flavors in one of the bags as you liked. Jimmy, Diane’s only birth son helped with the cooking while the kids Diane took in often helped out around the shop for some extra spending money. 

Diane lead Sunny to the back office that connected to the apartment she lived in with the kids and her wife, Katrina. Sunny grabbed one of the office chairs and sat down in it, playfully rolling into Diane’s desk. 

“So, mama, mother of many, how’s it goin?”

Diane smirked, “Don’t ‘so mama’ me, what happened?”

Sunny feigned shock. “Mama Diane, am I not allowed to come home, you know, to where the heart is? Does it have to because of some disaster?”

“She fucked you, didn’t she?” Diane crossed her arms. 

“Oh, many times,” Sunny bucked his eyebrows. 

“Don’t be nasty! You know what I mean. What happened?”

Sunny felt it was okay to beat around the bush for the time being, to stop himself from breaking down in front of her- no matter how much he wanted to. She had so much to deal with already and the last thing Sunny wanted to do was add to her plate. “It just didn’t work out, mama. You can go ahead and say I told you so.”

“You know that’s not what I’m about. I just want to see you safe and happy. That girl was never gonna let you be either of those.”

She was right… Of course she was right. She’d been right when Sunny told her that he was going away with Mia in the first place. Hell, she’d been right when he first met Mia six years ago. “Yeah…”

“Baby, I know you feel like you need somebody to be there for you, and that’s perfectly understandable. But you need somebody who’s gonna support you, who’s gonna be in your corner, and who’s not gonna take any of your shit. You can’t force somebody to be that. You just have to be patient.”

“You’re right,” Sunny brushed his hair back and sighed, leaning back in the seat.

“You look hurt, why you holding yourself like that?”

“Just sore. A long ride on the train back into the city.”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me…”

“Yeah, we didn’t exactly split on the best of terms. Anyways, I’m just glad to be back home.”

Diane looked at him with that stare, that look full of sympathy and love. “You want to stay for dinner tonight?”

“Maybe some other time, I just want to get home and shower and sleep.”

“Okay baby. You want your piece back, at least?”

“Sure do,” Sunny smiled. Diane reached under the desk and produced the lock box that held his handgun. She unhooked a key from her necklace and slid both across the desk to him. Sunny pulled his duffel bag into his lap and shook it. 

“Brought something for you,” he winked.

“From one of your desert stashes?” Diane bit into a carrot she produced from a plastic container. From the looks of it, Sunny had caught her on her lunch break. 

“Yep, figured we could use it in the future fund here,” Sunny unzipped the bag and produced several stacks of cash tied together by rubber bands. “Should be about three grand, there. Trade ya.”

Sunny gave her the money and zipped the rest back up. While Diane counted, Sunny unlocked the box to see his Beretta Cougar 8040 in its holster, his spare magazines resting beneath it. He pulled the pistol from its holster and checked to make sure it was empty. He stared down at it, glad to have the reassuring weight back in his hand. The original pistol was first manufactured 181 years ago, but Beretta brought back the design just thirty years ago as part of a legacy line. There weren’t many of them from that legacy line on the streets, but Sunny was glad to have his.

“Yep, three grand it is. I’ll add it to the fund. Thank you, baby.”

“No problem,” Sunny loaded a magazine into the gun, engaged the safety and holstered it, standing up and clipping the holster to the back of his belt. He put the spare magazines in the duffel bag and hoisted it on his shoulder, trying not to wince. “My car’s still here, right?”

With a mouthful of sandwich, Diane nodded and pointed to the wall behind her where a hook for keys was. Sunny crossed over and plucked his car key off the hook. Diane covered her mouth with her hand and snapped, “It’s out back.”

“Thank you, mama. I’ll see you later,” Sunny leaned down and kissed the woman’s forehead. Making sure he had everything he needed, he opened to door to the apartment and slid through.

“Call me!”

“I will, say hi to Katrina for me,” Sunny waved and closed the door behind him. 

In the garage behind Diane’s Eatery, Sunny rounded the corner and almost teared up when he saw his car safe and sound where he left it. The Briggs Wayfarer wasn’t the most sporty or even new car, but Sunny fell in love with it the moment he saw it when he was 16. The boxy look fit his tastes and the bright blue paint with white accents gave the car more personality than it’s brethren at the lot Sunny bought it from. It was about nine years old, but he’d taken good care of it, which also meant he’d installed bullet proof windows and paneling inside the chassis for when work got heated. 

Sunny unlocked the car with the fob and climbed in. The familiar feel of the seats made him instantly feel at home. He checked the dashboard and the passenger seat before twisting around to look in the back.

“Oh, baby, I missed you,” he smiled. Sunny tossed the duffel bag in the back seat and started the car to a healthy rumble. He couldn’t help but laugh in joy. “Yep, Mama Katrina took good care of it, didn’t she? Sounds good as new.”

The car’s navigation system blinked on and the console beeped to life. The welcome message scrolled across the screen and Sunny re-synched the car back to his watch before scrolling through his music options, picking a song and pulling out of the garage. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Tag List:

@writerinafury @oneleggedflamingo @carmina-solis @anomaly00 @neirawrites @lnspired-insomniac

#Farm Boy Blues #my wip #short story #writeblr #sci fi #the mama sunny deserves #I love her #and the kids

[toothcupdomtoothless-blog]

Others of my Kind: Part One (My story for the photo prompt)

{-Hiccup wouldn't let Toothless hear him scream against the pain when the Outcasts and Alvin tortured him. He was used to physical pain from being bullied by Snotlout for as long as he could remember before they stopped the Red Death. Then, he'd had to protect Berk and life became even more painful on Berk as he and Toothless had to protect it. He'd always hidden his pain from Toothless. His now beloved Night Fury meant the world to him. He was the only one who seemed to enjoy being in his company, even after they saved Berk. He couldn't take the thought of Toothless hating him for being weak. He'd accepted his romantic feeling for Toothless months ago. He heard a rumour a couple weeks prior to their capture by the Outcasts that the dragons had humanoid forms that still had a few of their dragon features, but looked mostly like a regular human. Hiccup had considered this interesting and watched Toothless for several days after hearing it, but the dragon made no sign of having any such ability. So, he did not believe it.-}

Toothless...

{-I hear my darling Hiccup's whimpers of pain everyday. I know he's in the cell right next to me, but we haven't seen each other since we were captured a week ago. I love that little Viking in more than just a friendly way. My senses are going crazy, and I sense a faint presence that seemed to be watching us both, but I was bound and in a cell, so I couldn't investigate further. There is a rumor and yes, it is true we dragons have human-like forms, but we haven't revealed them to the people of Berk yet, because we don't know what they'd think of us. If they'd panic, if they'd think we were watching them, pretending to be their friends to find out their weaknesses and deepest, darkest secrets. I was especially worried that is what Hiccup would think since I didn't reveal my humanoid form from the beginning. He'd be hurt that I didn't show him all of me when we first became friends. I wasn't honest with him, and I regret that, deeply, I do. I know at least all his secrets, and yet he doesn't know all mine, especially that I love him romantically. How pathetic is that, I know. I, Prince Nightwind of the Night Furies--known and famous for my bravery, mind you--am to much a coward to tell my scrawny, stupidly highly smart, awkward, understanding, amazing, innocent Viking crush that I can turn into a part human and that I love him. Hiccup would understand, eventually why I kept this secret. That was one of many amazing things that was so great about him about him. That was the part that told me me that everything would be alright between us. I just wanted Hiccup to instantly be okay with me, as selfish as that sounds, being what and who I am. So fragile and special he was to me, I would not let anybody hurt him. It's funny, I never thought I would find myself fallen so hard, especially for a human. And a runt of a Viking at that. I was--sooner than I could stop it--smiling so hard and like an idiot at just the thought of Hiccup. So innocent and purity overload. I heard some of the things the Outcasts said to him when they tortured him. They teased him for being a virgin and not knowing any sexual ideals and references at his age. He's fifteen! In my culture, it's not uncommon, unheard of and it is definitely nothing to be ashamed of if you don't know those things when you're seventeen! Plus, it's not his fault that nobody liked to be around him growing, that's their loss, he's an incredible being. In short, he had no one to teach him these things. Except maybe Gobber, but by the way my dear friend Rock (her bulky Rider called her Meatlug) described the way he taught the teens in dragon training, I definitely don't blame Hiccup for not going to him for help and advice on this subject. It wouldn't have been much help anyway, because his teaching style is turn them loose on it and let them figure it out on their own. Being new to it, it would make sense that just doing it with no clue what to do would scare him, and so would any sort of intimacy. You could not say I was wrong. Even when we were together and he was showing me his form of affection, which I probably enjoy way too much, he won't get anywhere near my stomach because he knows at the bottom is my sheath for my cock. I want him to touch me, and I want to touch him. His cock, I never seen, he never lets me see him undressed or in the process of doing so and I hate it. I understand he's shy, though. So, no he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to show me. At least, I hope it won't come to that...I am almost at my dragon's body's limit to exhaustion where I'll be forced to turn back into a human, though...-}

Hiccup...

{[I am not happy that I haven't gotten to see Toothless for a week and I don't know whether or not Alvin kept his word to abstain from harming him if I didn't fight back. He is called Alvin the Treacherous. I'll be able to see for myself today, apparently, though, because Alvin said that for keeping my word, he'd let me see my dragon for a few hours in the same cell as a 'reward' for handling my 'lessons' so well. He made it perfectly clear, though that the guards would be returning to beat me in front of him, then take me away from him forever. They were laughing about how my new captor had 'special plans' for me once he had me in his clutches. I knew what they were saying. I was to be raped, and Toothless could do nothing to save me from my captor, because he would never find me. I tried to remain optimistic that Toothless and I would find a way to escape in the few hours we would have together. No matter how hard I tried, things seemed to remain bleak, that outcome becoming less and less likely in my mind, the guards were right and that would be my future, and his would be uncertain. I just hope he finds escape simpler without me.-?

Guard 1: Come, you dragon boy?

Guard 2: Yer reptile's waiting for your arrival.

{-I stood, weakly, and they, picking to grab me on the back of my neck, marched me to the cell adjacent to mine and opened the door and shoved my weak body onto the ground. The closed and locked the cell door. They didn't need to bind me, I in too much pain to stand again, I'm amazed I could just moments ago. The guards walked away as I attempted to roll onto my side from my belly to be able to see Toothless and have a semi-easier time breathing than on my front side. Rolling (had I already been on my back) was one thing I could actually accomplish without the pain when I used my arms. I pushed myself up in absolute pain, but I pursed my lip and fought off the urge to produce a sound, even a slight hiss from the pain. I swerved and managed to sit against a wall, where it escaped my lips, a loud wince and I couldn't stop my hand from covering my ribs. I felt the sharp pools of toxic green on me and I looked up without hesitation to meet the gaze of my muscular, sleek dragon staring intently--no boring intrestedly in me. I hadn't laid eyes on his black-scaled chassis for days, a week, much less his entrancing eyes. I managed a weak smile, that grew from ear-to-ear, me no longer caring how much pain it would surely inflict and put upon me. I was just so happy to see him. Adrenaline filled me as I stood--very weakly and painfully--shaking. My great Night Fury looked to me smiling his signature TOOTHLESS smile.-}

Toothless...

{-Here they come, they're bringing Hiccup to me. The two burly Outcasts unlocked the cell door and shoved him to the ground inside my cell after they'd held the back of his neck so hard, it would definitely leave a bruise. They carelessly forced him to the floor and LEFT, locking the cell door behind on the way out. I knew they'd be coming to check on us in a half-hour. Hiccup was in pretty bad shape, he was bleeding, bruised and that was just his dorsal side. I knew he was in immense pain, but he rolled and swerved into a sitting position anyway. He let out a sound before he could stop it of agonizing pain and held his rib/side. I roared, concerned about him, but he met my piercing gaze without hesitate and forced through the pain to smile at me. Seriously, was he happy even though he knew I could tell he was in excruciating pain? Was he happy to see me that much? I gave him my signature Toothless grin which had earned me my name given by Hiccup himself. He smiled ear-to-ear, not caring about his pain. I loved this human, of this I am sure. Standing to on his prosthetic leg and the real one, still smiling-}

Hiccup: Hey, bud, (shyly) I'm so glad you're alright...

{-Did he just say that with the amount of pain he's in? Oh no, I feel dizzy and numb and weak. Hiccup can tell that my eyes are going in and out of focus and has the nerve to ask if I am okay and my eyes go blurry and I can feel my bones changing and the magic dust forming around me. Well, at least this way, Hiccup can see it first-hand. It takes about half of a minute before I hear the dust settle down and stop feeling my bones change. I look back up at Hiccup, my eyes becoming less and less blurry and finally coming back into sharp focus where I can plainly see Hiccup with a curious and concerned--not frightened face. I am in shock, I thought he wouldn't accept this. Suddenly, I see him push his undoubtedly burning with pain arms to get him off the wall and struggles to maintain his balance as he struggles to advance towards me without falling, he is shaking uncontrollably--in apprehension and absolute fear, no doubt. I just now realize that the Outcasts left my mouth uncovered, and my snout and face unbound and what I'm about to do next, I've practiced so I'm not so awkward at it. Trust me, I would've died of embarrassment..-}

Human-like Me: Hiccup...

{-That stopped him dead in his tracks and he looked at me like he'd been for the past three minutes, only his eyes were full of pain, concern, sadness and regret--four emotions I never wanted to see Hiccup's face embody. The next thing I knew, tears were flowing from his eyes in thin, steady streams. No...-}

Hiccup...

{/Did he just...oh my gooooooods, he just talked to me, he just said my name. I looked again into his eyes--I'd been unable to imagine that Toothless would be able to have actual conversation with little, scrawny me. Ever since I heard that rumor and even after I'd deduced it to be just a silly rumor floating, I'd always wondered if it had been true, what would Toothless be like...What would his personality around me be like from then on? I imagined and that made me wonder even more..one of the things I mulled over and over in my brain was if he could talk to me, what would he sound like? What kind of tone would I hear and how would he say things to, well, ME...? Full of dread and disgust since he could finally voice how much he must resent me for shooting him down and taking away his tailfin? I still hadn't gotten over that by the way. For RIDING him! He must definitely hate me for that, I'd always assumed. Being demeaned and dishonored and undignified in such a way by a fishbone of a human, no less! I continued to stare, well aware that my eyes were pouring tears. His voice, so smoothly even and masculine and authoritated...it was laced with compassion, concern and loving for me...for me, how is that possible? This WAS Toothless!--}

Toothless...

{-He isn't saying anything, just standing there, eyes wide, but he's still looking at me, not scrambling backwards. Whew, that's good. Seriously, though, say SOMETHING, Hiccup! You're torturing me! (Imagine the GIF above as his state of mind thinking this as well as Hiccup's mind with his non-existent self-like and self-esteem, even) I seriously hope he doesn't hate me for this. I don't think my heart could take Hiccup hurting it by hating me or being hurt by me! Let me break the ice here, as humans say. Or try to..!-]

Myself: You know, I always wanted you to stare at me, but not in this way. It is kinda rude.

{-Cutie Hiccup blushed and seemed shocked back to reality, he looks down, still blushing of embarrassment.....gods, I wanted him. I meant that in more than a pure way, obviously. I have to concentrate, I totally feel the growing of my bulge. Shit, now that I have a humanoid form, I no longer have a sheath containing it, which means Hiccup will be able to see it, my boner/erection. Finally, Hiccup mumbles something inaudible to me and I give him a 'seriously' look and he chuckles slightly. Time goes by where we simply looked at each other and the guards came back twice already to check on us and tease Hiccup some more. What the h*l* are they talking about, new master who had 'unconventional' activities for him to perform? Another check where we got lost in each other's eyes.-}

Me: Hiccup, you know you can get closer to me, I won't ever chew something off of you, even if I could. (shrug)

{-That got his attention, and he seemed to zero in on my leather bonds. He also got closer, but his curious eyes were locked onto my bonds, I right now feel kind of jealous of the rough leather restricting my movement. Hiccup got close enough to me where I could reach my arms out and wrap them around him if I could move them. He is at most two inches from me and reaches his hand slowly, carefully to my arm and the leather binding it. He feels it for the buckle, and I suddenly realize what he's doing. He is trying to free me just like last time! He follows the tightened strap to the front and finds what he's looking for--he's looking for a way to free me! Hiccup looks up at me apologetically and whispers the next thing so that only I can hear. Yes, Hicc...do share with me, your best friend.-}

Hiccup: I'm sorry, bud.

{-Sorry? What the f*** exactly is he sorry for? He turns back to the buckle and pulls it tighter, what? I look down at him in confusion, it didn't necessarily hurt me too much, but what was Hiccup talking about?-}

Hiccup: So sorry if that hurts, bud, I'm trying to undo this buckle and it'll be easier if I have the fastened ends together.

Me (having forgotten about my new ability to speak): Why didn't you just say so?

{-Hiccup makes a shocked face that was priceless, just as the buckle snaps undone from his careful handiwork, quietly, so it doesn't draw the guards' attention. Now free to wiggle my arms that were still tied around my back, I shake off the stiffness in them by doing just that. Hiccup's face still hasn't changed. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who'd already forgotten about my improved vocalization. Hiccup blushes even brighter, it is so adorable! I guess, we've just always been able to read each other's body language and signals, because that was the only way we could learn to communicate. Hiccup learned how to read me as a Night Fury, but not as a person, because he's never had to. Now, I could tell he was confused and a little scared, honestly, because I learned how to read him as a human, as Hiccup and he doesn't have a second form. I understand his point of view completely. It was the reaction I expected, after all. I look back up to Hiccup with my toxic green eyes and he's biting his bottom lip, blushing uncontrollably. It is taking a fucking lot of will power to restrain myself right now. He'd stopped the straps tying me from falling to the floor and making a lot of noise. I also just now realize that I can now move and walk about my cell, freely, that is, I could, if my ankles had not been buckled together, putting me in an awkward, humiliating stance just to be able to stand up. Those had the only straps that bound me to stay stationary, now that the one around my arms that held me tight with the ceiling were gone. Hiccup must have realized this. He gulps and lowers himself softly to his knees, careful not to make too much noise. He works quickly and carefully to unbind my ankles. I watch and admire him for getting so close to something that made him so nervous. Also, working through agonizing pain must be straining him. Hiccup stays silent as he works and barely manages to unbuckle that strap binding my ankles, and I stood to my full height, which must have scared or startled Hiccup, because he takes several steps backwards. I look down to him, tilting my head, curiously. It's taking every single fiber of my self-control not to say something dirty to him and pin him, taking him, fuck him against the cell's rock wall. Hey, my hands may still be bound...but I have some--a lot of practice, I could get it done.-}

Hiccup (haven't heard from him in a while)...

{-Why's he looking at me like that? What's going on here? It'll only be a few minutes before the next guard check, so, I better get moving on those tied hands. Toothless continues to watch me, letting his still feral slit eyes taking in every detail of weak, fishbone me, give me several once-overs. How did he see me now? As a human? Most likely, he's masking his desires to slit my throat or strangle me as a hands-on...no, no, not now, Hiccup, focus. Now that I know he can talk, it's like torture that he won't say a word to me, even they're hateful. Why do I wish his hands were on me? No! Bad Hiccup, focus on getting you both out of here alive! I make my way around him and pick up the knot gently in my hands that binds him, so it wouldn't hurt him. I try to undo the knot for a good three minutes and got it almost there, but Toothless still isn't able to freely use his arms, when one of the two Outcast guards shouted at me...-}

Guard 1: Hey!

Toothless...

{-Hiccup was just standing there, clearly nervous by the way I looked at him. I continued eye-fucking him until he managed to move around me and start on the cloth knot tying my hands. So dedicated, I loved the feeling of Hiccup wanting so badly to free me from the bonding factors. So, I really like--love him. All the sudden, the guards came back as he almost got the knot, and one yelled at him, halting him in his actions and before he knew it, they were in the cell and chasing after him, axes raised and I roared at them. I distracted one and gave him a good kick to the nutsack for having the balls to treat such an amazing being with such disrespect. I looked over briefly to see the other guard standing over Hiccup who was balled up on the floor while the guard was kicking him in the stomach, I was so angry, I was seeing red and was about to jump him when the guard I knocked down lunged at me and grabs me around the torso just under my raised arms and held me as the other guard gave me a sinister smirk and grabbed Hiccup by the back of the neck and hoisted him up into the air and carried him over to me. Oh, no don't tell me he's going to--}

Guard 1: Watch this, freak--!

Hiccup: (groans, boredly; rolls eyes)

Guard 2: Oh...that's right. Pain is nothing new or unbearable and utterly miserable to the little bugger. He's felt it most of his life, after all. Ah, well, it'll make me feel good, you?

Guard 1: Definitely, so would you like to do the first honors?

Guard 2: And give you a go afterwards, of course!

{-I struggle against the burly Outcast guard holding me. Had my hands been unbound, they would both be dead. As the one holding on to Hiccup which wasn't difficult, landed/ administer and pulled back each blow, my anger and bloodthirst grew. Suddenly, Hiccup made a move and as the guard dug his nails into the opposite side of his neck, Hiccup sunk his teeth into the guard's arm and apparently a big, muscled man can't take a bite from a little teenager who drew blood, apparently, and he dropped Hiccup from his other hand, pulling back to cradle his 'wounded' arm, please, just look at Hiccup. The small boy didn't waste time complaining, though and bolted, barely letting himself stumble to the floor. The guard holding me offered, but the guard chasing Hiccup screamed at him to keep me still. They're afraid, as they should be, hmph...-}

Hiccup: Come get me!

Guard: Get back here, you piece of--! Oh no!!!!!

{Hiccup had ran and ducked under my arms after I lunged forward, still imprisoned in my captor's arms. Hiccup grabbed mine and kept them in place as the guard's axe came down, then SLICE was the only sound I heard as the blade had freed my hands, cutting clean through what remained of the knot perfectly in half.

Hiccup, you scrawny genius! With the last of my bonds gone, I felt my strength kick in and Hiccup had already gotten ahead of me to free me from the captor guard and kicked him in his dick. He doubled over, releasing me from his hold and whining loudly in pain. The other guard trembled as I advanced and I quickly disarmed him and slid the axe over to Hiccup with my foot. Hiccup got it and blocked the guard's blows with the flat end of the axe. Once I had finished the one I was fighting in mere seconds, I leap over to Hiccup and instantly block the other guard's blows to him and give him a real and short fight for his skin, which he lost in even less seconds than his companion and I turned back to Hiccup who was lying on his back--no, wait, ahem, SITTING on the floor trying to get up, but I 'tch' at him, twice and he watches me closely leaning backwards a little as I lean my face closer to him. Our faces are inches apart and my right arm has stopped him from leaning back any further and Hiccup's knees were still bent in a propped position, which made it easy for me to sweep my left arm under his knees and lift him with me as I stand. There's no way I'll try to have him push himself further, at least I hope so...he's mumbling in protest, but really, even though a part of me thinks it's cute, I really don't give a shit whether he thinks I can't tell that he's too weak to walk.-}

So, I carry him silently out of the cell and past all the others filled with ACTUAL criminals and outside. I sense that presence again, now it's overwhelming! Oh no...it's...it's my kind...THEY found us! I take my stance to take off, but then realize I can't operate my tailfin, shit. Now, I have to make Hiccup utilize it in his condition.-}

Me: Psst, Hiccup.

Hiccup: (gasps slightly when I talk) Y-yes, s-s-sir?

{-Sir, what the f**'!?!! I'll ask later. I HAVE to get us out of here and safely back to Berk, but if we leave now, it'll take longer for them to find us.-}

Me: I need you to get on my back and operate my tailfin. I can't use this one on my own.

Hiccup: (realizes) Oh...

{-Without any questions, Hiccup obeys me and climbs over me, adjusting in my still attached saddle and making sure he is secured to the saddle and his prosthetic in the proper position, quick in only a few seconds, he bent his foot backwards and in turn opens the tailfin. Silently, I crouch again and leap, flapping my wings, taking us away from Outcast Island back to Berk, so at least Hiccup wouldn't have to navigate. As I fly, Hiccup is silently adjusting himself, as he seemed not to be able to get into any comfortable position and I assumed, he needed time to absorb the fact that his Night Fury could actually turn into a human-like form. Hours seem to slowly pass before I finally see the telltale giant torches that signify we've entered the ocean air space of Berk and I climb higher, to rise above the rooftops quite a ways so I won't set one on fire when I do this!-}

Me: (shoot plasma blast and roar)

Hiccup (startled): Oh my--! (faint)

{-The villagers race out of their homes to see me gently glide down and land in my humanoid form. Astrid and Stoick push their way to the front as I finally touch down. Before they can say anything from their open mouths, Gothi comes forward, as I was hoping and I gently slide/take Hiccup back into my arms and reveal his injured body to the old woman to see. She is covering his face from the view of the other villagers. Hiccup stirs at her touch, remembering it as familiar and he slowly blinks his eyes up at her wrinkled facade.-}

Hiccup (weakly): Gothi...?

{-His father must have heard this, so he rushed to us, me still crouched slight over him and gently nudged Gothi slightly to the side so she could still get her hands to him, but Stoick got a good look at his son. Hiccup turns his head to him and gazes at his dad. Stoick cries in relief and I reluctantly let Stoick take him from my arms. Stoick backs up only slightly-}

Stoick: Just who are you--?

{-We stood. No doubt it was the question everyone had towards me until Hiccup, still able to reach me, grabbed my arm. I looked at his face and it showed nothing but pure joy, happiness-relief that I was safe and alive with him.-}

Hiccup (scratchy; loudly): T-Too--Tooth--less...

{-I smile at him and chuckle, tears running down from my eyes in absolute relief. I take his face in my hands and he looks at my face.-}

Me: It's okay, Hiccup. We're okay.

{-I know right now, everybody else must be confused as fucking shit, but I don't care about them right now. I cup his face. Hiccup was the only person who mattered to me in my life.-}

Me (tears streaming): Hiccup...you saved us. Saved us both. We wouldn't have escaped had you not pushed yourself through, disregarding your own pain to save me and still trusted me, even after I transformed into my human-like form that you had no way of knowing about enough to undo my bonds. You've been here for me every single day.

Hiccup (coughing): Just like I've been since the beginning, Bud...you, you couldn't have done anything while you were bound, I don't blame you for that. You cannot blame yourself.

Me: That's kind of hard when you wouldn't let yourself make any sound of pain while you were being tortured in the cell right next to mine--so close, but I couldn't get to you to save you from more injury--except for slight whimpers.

Hiccup: But you were there for me and saved me when it really counted.

Toothless: Just like I've always been since that day you released me and then the next, you completely persisted to bug the absolute fuck out of me. (slight chuckle..)

Hiccup (forlornly): Oh...I'm sorry...

Me: No, no, I'm happy you did, otherwise I wouldn't have seen what a wonderful being you are!

{-Hiccup makes the next move, returning my affectionate action and cupping my face gently. We pressed our foreheads together and I signalled the Riders' dragons to transform. They all looked at each other in worried glances, yet they obeyed.-}

Rock: Ah...have to admit, it does feel nice to be able to tell them.

Flare: Yeah...

Twin 2: Yeah, now that Prince Nightwind has transformed in front of his human, we can all tell our beloved Rider teens the truth.

Twin 1 (pointing to the Riders, who are slack-jawed): Well, we know one thing for sure, we've struck them speechless...

{-Indeed, the teens did hold shocked expressions and their jaws seemed to hang, limply. All I cared about right now was that Hiccup was finally safe at home, we both were...that is until Stoick, well, yanked Hiccup away from me in his arms and turned before either of us could say anything in protest and followed Gothi up to her cottage, followed by Gobber, with a sour expression. Shit...Hiccup was probably right, Stoick had been naturally angry for many years. Hopefully, he was wrong about it being since the day he was born...I watched as my love was carried away from me and I was left, longingly gazing after him...the Riders cleared their throats. I turned to them as they crossed their arms, clearly expecting an explanation. Well...ffffffffuuuuuckkkkkk...-}

End of Part One...

[entropic-introspection]

Part the third! I feel like its a sort of. Odd part, because its when suddenly there’s plot and me attempting to start explaining the whole nonsense with Cybertronian submissive/dominant coding, but hey! It’s done!

And for those of you who don’t like reading this on tumblr- eventually, a cleaned up version will be uploaded to AO3. I’ll post a link when it happens! For now though, this is titled I Love You for Psychological Reasons, abbreviated ily4pr because that is. An astonishingly accurate acronym actually.

So, what is the Autobot high command like? SNAFU, honestly.

“Ow! Ratchet, are you sure this is necessary?” Optimus asked, trying to squirm away. He received an especially fierce jab with the welder for his troubles.

“Maybe if someone didn’t run off like a partially plated sparkling, no,” Ratchet said. “Quit squirming or I’ll weld your arm to your chassis by accident.”

“Accident,” Optimus muttered. “Right.”

Ratchet cracked the barest hint of a smile that he let seep into his field, but kept his eyes on his work. “Don’t you two have anything better to do?” he called over his shoulder at the annoying buzz of conjoined fields behind him.

Jetfire and Jetstorm looked at each other. “No?” they said in unison.

“We be taking Prime to see Ultra Magnus and maybe sort of Magnus Sentinel after this!” Jetstorm said. “So until then, we be waiting.”

“Prime’s a big bot, I’m sure he can make his own way there,” Ratchet said sardonically.

“Sentinel maybe Magnus gave us specific orders!” Jetfire said. “He be wanting us to be ready to drag you in by your unecessary wingtips to be explaining this mess to the Ultra Magnus. Though those be missing right now.”

Ratchet could feel the tiny twitches in Optimus’ plating, cables suddenly tensing and trying to recalibrate for a missing weight. His processor was probably stuck on a loop, looking for his jetpack and its associated protocols plus its weight. Not uncommon for an injury like that, but it could be a sign of further damage. He’d keep an eye on it.

“I thought he wasn’t supposed to get too much unexpected news,” Optimus said.

Jetfire and Jetstorm gave Optimus pitying looks. “You thinking he miss whole planet shaking from huge warp? Or missing hammer? Sir tell us he be telling Ultra Magnus just so he not worry so much!” Jetstorm explained.

“And conveniently means he can’t explain what all he’s mucked up or else it might be too much for that poor old spark,” Ratchet muttered cynically, too low for the twins to hear. Optimus glared at him, but made no other movements. Smart bot. Most of the Academy bots learned pretty quick that the one person you never argue with was your medic, but Ratchet’s heard a few stories to suggest that Sentinel definitely-not-Magnus took a few tries to get it through his thick helm. That threat to weld arms to chassis wasn’t uncommon, nor was it entirely un-acted on. With a few adjustments, of course. Such as possibly welding a big mouth shut.

“All right,” Optimus said. “Can you tell Sentinel I’ll be there shortly? I’ll bring the hammer as well.”

Ratchet frowned. Optimus would be tired from both the battle and the repairs, not to mention a full submissive shouldering their way through a full dominance challenge could bring its own problems. If he had his way, Optimus would be resting for the day, alone or with friends as he preferred.

(Some part of him rolls its optics at his use of the word day, but, well, Earth had affected all of them. He feels awful to even think it, but he’s glad that Optimus ended up stuck with their horrible little rag-tag team of misfits on Earth, because the thought of him going through the rest of the Autobot Guard training alone-)

“I’ll come with you,” Ratchet said instead.

Optimus cycled his optics. “What? Why? I thought you said-”

Ratchet waved him off sharply. “I just fixed you up, and that hammer is slagging heavy. I don’t want your whole arm falling off because you were careless.”

Jetfire and Jetstorm frowned. “Is not being a good idea,” Jetfire said. “Too many bots! Without security clearance, even!”

Ratchet snorted. “If I wanted our Magnus dead, I could’ve just let Shockwave finish him off, and if I wanted the hammer, I had plenty of time to make off with it.”

The twins drew themselves up and approached together. “Still not allowed,” Jetstorm said. “No good!” Jetfire said. They both glared at Ratchet, their fields shoving their assorted bits of dominance at the both of them. Young bots, honestly. Medics didn’t give a slag about dominance and submission because that’s stupid when you’re saving lives, and Optimus hadn’t even stuttered at dominance challenges much stronger than whatever these two could dredge up. Still not good for them to get ideas.

Ratchet raised an eye ridge as he put his welder down and turned around, and neatly swatted them down with a burst of sharp edged medical grade dominant EMF. “Don’t get into a code off with a medic,” he drawled as the twins flinched backwards. “It doesn’t tend to impress us much.”

“Just… go ahead,” Optimus said to them. “I’ll convince Ratchet, or take responsibility.”

“I’m my own responsibilty,” Ratchet growled, but the twins had already fled. He looked over at Optimus. “You ok, kid? Can’t be fun dealing with any of this on top of a full challenge from that slag eating idiot Megatron.” Primus knew he’d have a raging helmache after that, even with a lower sensing capacity.

“I’m fine, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “I’m just… out of practice.”

“Heh. Earth was a lot quieter, wasn’t it,” Ratchet said.

“I recall there being a few Decepticons,” Optimus said with a smile.

“Details,” Ratchet said dismissively. “At least we weren’t socializing with them.”

Optimus stifled a laugh as Ratchet stretched, working out the kinks in his back cables. He relaxed his field as well, dropping the medical coding that let him project whatever was needed to calm patients. A vague neutral was the most popular, but he could vary it towards either dominance or submission as needed. It was supposedly indistinguishable from a natural EMF, but there was always something off about it. Made bots jumpy, and feeling others constantly probing his EMF without thinking to find that wrongness made Ratchet irritable.

Still, it had it’s advantages sometimes. He eyed Optimus, wondering if he should have tried to soothe him with unassuming dominance. He could scrounge up a bit of that from his own code, although it wouldn’t be very strong.

Optimus caught his look and rolled his optics. “I’m fine,” he stressed. “Besides, I think after getting hit by Megatron’s field, any dominance is going to feel like acid.”

“Fair enough,” Ratchet shrugged, but quietly decided to keep a close eye on the kid. You never knew when complications would pop up, and Optimus was annoyingly stubborn about actually telling him what was wrong. Dominance and submissive coding was a nightmare to deal with, being stuck somewhere between a physical ailment and a mental one, but he’d do his best.

Optimus was still side-eying him, so he made a small show of examining Optimus’ scratched faceplates. “Well, your face will look like you lost a fight with the ground for a while, but it’s nothing your self repair can’t handle. I suppose we should get moving.”

Optimus opened his mouth to argue, only to be stopped by Ratchet’s look. He sighed. “We should,” he agreed resignedly, grabbing the hammer from where it rested on the wall.

The journey to Ultra Magnus’ room was uneventful, although security seemed to be a little non-plussed at how to handle Optimus carrying the Magnus Hammer since it was, technically, a weapon of possibly mass destruction.

Sentinel eventually stuck his head out the door, scowling. “Would you get in here already!” he said impatiently. “And give me that!” he said, snatching the hammer from Optimus’ hands, hissing in displeasure when its handle sparked.

“I’m sorry, Sentinel,” Optimus said as they walked inside, trying to cover Ratchet’s snort, “I just assumed-”

“Haven’t you learned your assumptions get bots killed,” Sentinel snapped, placing the hammer gently against the wall by the medical berth.

“Enough,” Ultra Magnus said, vocalizer rasping and popping from lack of use. “What is done is done.” He was propped up on the medical berth, attached to various silent monitors. A few tubes ran through his emergency intakes on his chest, carrying fluid in and out. Optimus saw Ratchet squint and frown, but stay silent.

“Ultra Magnus, sir,” Optimus said respectfully. “It’s good to see you up.”

“For a given value of up,” Ultra Magnus said. His optics roamed over Optimus. “You look quite good for someone who took on Megatron.”

“I was lucky,” Optimus said, trying to shove the embarrassed flush out of his field. “I didn’t think I would be able to do much besides stall him until help could arrive.”

“Well,  you couldn’t even do that,” Sentinel drawled. “And if you hadn’t hung up on me, I could have told you that all of our forces were occupied with evacuating civilians and holding the line to keep the Decepticons contained within the districts around Trypticon.”

“All of them?” Ratchet said blandly. “Goodness me, I thought that the increased militarization in Iacon was to prevent this sort of thing.”

Sentinel scowled, and Optimus hurried to speak before he could open his mouth. “I am sorry for, ah, taking the Magnus Hammer,” he said, layering submissiveness into his field. Sentinel tended to like that. “I wasn’t sure if I could take on Megatron without it, seeing as how it’s too easy for him to shrug off my axe. Besides which, I thought that if I were to walk into an ambush, the Hammer’s electrical abilities would be able to take out a larger number of enemies at once.”

“Well reasoned,” Ultra Magnus croaked with a nod. “But you cannot do that again, Optimus Prime.” There was a brush of dominance in his field, so weak and far gone from its usual vibrant rush that Optimus felt almost off-balance.

“Of course, sir,” he said automatically. “I understand.” I don’t mean that, he realized. He felt as though that should bother him more than it did.

“Do you now,” Ultra Magnus said. “Perhaps…” Sentinel and Optimus exchanged confused looks over Ultra Magnus’ head as he stared off into the distance, humming slightly to himself. This certainly wasn’t normal behavior. Optimus heard Ratchet quietly sigh behind him.

“In any case,” Ultra Magnus said suddenly, focusing back on the two Primes before him, “There is always much to be done, now more than ever. I did not expect to wake to the news that we had captured Megatron only to have a mass escape, but this means we are in more danger than ever. Be on the lookout for unusual behavior that may hint at new Decepticon movements. We know they are out there, and they will return. They have proven they may already be here.” He paused to take a few ragged inhalations. “I fear that I must rest now. Protect the Commonwealth, soldiers. Dismissed.”

“Sir!” Optimus and Sentinel said, saluting. They turned to leave as a medic entered the room. Ratchet said something to them in a low tone, but the other just shook their head and pushed him towards the door.

“Is it very bad?” Optimus asked quietly as the door slid shut behind them.

“Of course everything’s bad,” Sentinel snapped before Ratchet could say anything. He glared at the guards, who were staring straight ahead uncomfortably, as if optic contact was what would make this supposedly private conversation awkward.

Sentinel moved forward, grabbing Optimus’ elbow to guide him. Ratchet trailed after them, hovering like a particularly irritated Earth storm cloud.

“Optimus needs to rest-” he started.

“Optimus needs to stop causing new problems!” Sentinel hissed. “I’m trying to take care of things and you two are ruining it!”

“What have I ruined?” Optimus asked in confusion. “From the sound of it, no one would have been able to stop the Decepticons-”

Sentinel groaned in exasperation. “See! You don’t even know what our real problems are. Fine. You know what?”

“Since you’re incapable of keeping out of trouble, I’m sending you to where you at least can’t make it worse. Your pet techno-organic said that something was wrong on that disgusting mudball of a planet and said that your underling Bumblebee couldn’t talk to me at the moment.”

“What?” Optimus said, alarmed. “Sari and- What sort of trouble?!”

“I don’t know, and I really don’t care,” Sentinel said in annoyance. “There’s no reason for any Decepticons to still be there, and you rounded up the All Spark fragments to repair it. As far as I’m concerned, anything else is those squishies problems. But for now? You can go check it out. It’s not like you can make anything worse there.”

“And as for you,” he said, rounding on Ratchet with an accusatory finger already pointing. “You are to remain here, in Iacon, on Cybertron, since you refuse to find a secondary pilot for Omega Supreme.”

Ratchet looked more like a storm cloud than ever. “I have told the Council-”

“Too bad,” Sentinel snapped. “I don’t care what you think, I still hold authority until Ultra Magnus is back on his peds. And I want you here on Cybertron, and Optimus can go back to those stupid squishies.”

“Alone?” Ratchet said archly. “Didn’t we just prove that’s not a good plan?”

Sentinel rolled his optics. “It’s not like there’s anything on Earth that could seriously threaten him anymore.” - “Get outta here!” Mixmaster sneered, chivying off the tiny organics attempting to investigate their build site. “Shoo!”

“Ey, they’re kinda cute when you look at ‘em right,” Scavenger said. He winced as a bullet pinged off his plating. “Kinda noisy though.”

“They’re messin’ up our timeline,” Mixmaster grumbled. “You know how boss gets about that.”

“Yeah, well, boss is busy right now,” Scavenger said. He looked off into the distance, where Dirt Boss was busy yelling at some humans from atop the tank he had cerebro-shelled. The little bug dude was yelling back at him, but wasn’t getting much of anywhere. “We ain’t on the clock ‘til he gets back. ‘Sides, what’s so important here anyways that we gotta build here? Thought with Megatron gone we’d be doing stuff more discreet like or somethin’. Ain’t worth the trouble.”

Mixmaster shrugged eloquently. “This pink stuff’s worth a ton to the right folks,” he said. “Guess it’s good for us too? Got no flavor to it, not like that good oil though. Still, we set up this here mining rig and we can get set for life.”

“But do we really gotta set up here?” Scavenger said, leaning back against the scaffolding they already had up, ignoring how the humans seemed to panic as it groaned under the stress. “Organics like these are a workplace hazard. We can just go’n find some more-”

“There ain’t more!” Mixmaster argued. “Not yet, I think, if Dirt Boss’ is right. I’m lookin’ at this here energon stuff and it ain’t natural to this here planet, but it’s wellin’ up for some reason. Nearest I can tell, somethin’ pushed a reaction that’s causin’ this here organic scrap to start cyberizing. Gave it a bit ‘a sentio metallico to kick-start some slag, and the rest is some chemistry mumbo jumbo that you ain’t gonna understand anyhow.”

“Yes, but I might,” a new voice broke in.

The two Constructicons looked up to see one of the Starscream clones floating down, touching down with barely a sound.

“Who’s you?’ Mixmaster asked, instantly suspicious.

“Slipstream,” she said with a smile. “I think I can help you boys with your problems. Pro-bono, even. For free,” she clarified at their blank looks.

“Yeah?” Scavenger said, trying to make his leaning pose look as nonchalant as it had been a few clicks ago. “’Cause since you showed up, I got this real big problem-”

“I have null rays and a willingness to use them to take care of that ‘problem’,” Slipstream said. “Wanna keep that sentence going?”

“No ma’am,” Scavenger said, hands moving to cover his more delicate cyber-anatomy.

She gave a flinty smile. “Good. Now then. Do I talk to you, or is there someone else I need to terrorize first?”

#tf #fanfic #maccadam #tfa #ily4pr

[empressofthelibrary]

💬 💬 💬 :P

Gonna be long, sorry mobile users.  It’s all first-draft stuff, but it’s got a lot of promise.

From the first episode/chapter of my PreCure fanseries:

For context: Astra, the mouse-fairy, is distressed because the badguy essentially stole a person’s entire will to live.

The mouse shook her head.  “It is very bad!  I’ll explain later, just get up there and assess the damage!”

Lucy glanced up at the window.  “Uh, right, okay.”  Holding the mouse close to her chest, she turned and hopped up to the balcony.  She was adjusting fairly quickly to her new superpowers, thankfully, but not quick enough.  After hastily scrambling down from the roof, she knocked on the sliding glass door she was fairly sure lined up with the window she’d seen Somna hovering outside of.

No answer.

“Uh, sir?  Madam? …Nonbinary esteemed person?”

The mouse groaned.  “Just go in. No one’s gonna answer you.”

Lucy winced.  “But that’s breaking and entering!  Heroes don’t do crimes!  Besides, I’ve already made a bad enough first impression.”

The rodent rolled her eyes.  “We don’t have time for this!”  And with that, she leapt out of Lucy’s hand and leapt through the glass like it was water, complete with ripples fading out in her wake.

Lucy yelped.  “Tiny mouse-lady!”  After a moment of hesitation, Lucy yanked the door aside and hurried in after her.

From an original work I hope to be a book soon:

For context: two old friends are having to deal with some really dark and heavy stuff.  One tries to be silly to lighten the mood, and it backfires, more or less.

With as much ceremony as she could pack into the moment, Helena held the box in front of her, eyes closed.  "Sir Mar'kanth Elias Greenwood, The Ashblade, Lord of the Brightwood and knight of the Order of the Oak.  As blood-bound sister and once-champion of the late Queen Lyrianna Fireblade, and guardian of the true heir to the Silver Throne, I lay a task before you."

Mark stifled a grin.  "There's no need to be this dramatic."

Helena cracked an eye open.  "When am I not dramatic?"

"She has a point," Tim laughed, dodging his wife's playful elbow.

Helena cleared her throat and the scene resumed.  "As all of that stuff I just said, I lay a task before you. This amulet was given to me by Her Majesty Lyrianna Fireblade herself.  It has more protection and safety charms woven into the metal than I can count, and the stones hold part of her own power in reserve.  A dear friend of mine needs protection and safety on his journey to a new home.  I believe that, between your abilities as a spellsword and whatever boost this amulet can give to you, that he will reach his destination whole and healthy.  Now, I also ask that you keep this amulet safe until I am able to retrieve it myself, or send one of my agents to do the same.  Will you accept this task?"

Mark dropped to one knee and bent his head.  "I would be honored, Lady.  I swear, upon my honor as a brother of the Oak, as Lord of the Brightwood, and as a Knight of the Silver Court, to serve you as I did Her Majesty, and as I intend to one day serve Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Illyana."

There was a sharp crackle of energy in the air, and to those who had known magic, the world tasted green for a split second before returning to normal.  Helena's breath caught -- The formal oath of a fae was no small thing.  "You didn't have to do that."

Aaand from an old Transformers fic that has been discontinued.  A rewrite is planned, pending worldbuilding revisions:

For context: Optimus, as his pre-Matrix self Optronix, has “rescued” a young Starscream from what he assumed was certain death at the hands of a gang of angry dinobots.

I snatched the kid up, spun as soon as my feet hit metal, and started running for the street.  The mech I'd tackled, the smallest of the five, started to get up as I approached.  I jumped onto the disposal-bin, sprang towards the exit, and didn't stop running until I was three streets away.

"You okay kid," I managed after a moment, feeling the brawl and mad dash for safety in every inch of my frame as I set him down.

The young mech stared at me imperiously.  "My name is Starscream," he snapped, lifting his chin.  "You would do well to remember it."

I glared right back.  "Listen, twerp, I just saved your ungrateful shiny hide back there!"

He crossed his arms and turned away.  "I could've handled them myself.  I didn't need you."  After a moment, he looked back over his shoulder.  "Well, you did make yourself useful, at least."

"Happy to be of service," I said dryly.  "Now.  Where are your parents?"

"Not far," he replied, his tone no less annoying.  "I was actually on my way home when those cretins attacked me."  We stood in silence for a moment before he spoke again.  "You can go now.  I don't require further 'aid.'"

I just stood there and stared at him, my arms crossed and one eyebrow lifted.

"Ugh.  Fine.  It's this way."

We walked in silence, Starscream half a step ahead, towards the Science Quarter.  It was the opposite direction from my own apartment, but I could find my way home easily enough once I made sure the brat was safe.  The buildings around us were offices and labs, not residential, when he stopped at the external doors of one.

"Well, goodbye then," he said, without a trace of sentiment.

"Nope," I responded with a wry grin.  "Lead on, Starscream.  I'm making sure you find an adult and they know what happened."

Starscream groaned again, his shoulders sagging.  "I'm not a child, you brainless oaf.  I can walk up a flight of stairs without dying."

"Prove it."

Starscream's optics narrowed, flashing red in the streetlamps' glow.  Without a word, he straightened, spun on his heel, and slammed a hand onto the doorpad.  It slid open easily, and we walked inside.

True to his word, Starscream led me up three flights of stairs, down several winding corridors, and through a multitude of probably-locked doors before he stopped at one.

"This is my mother's lab," he said tersely.  "There, I am safe.  What an accomplishment.  Huzzah.  Now shoo."

"Sarcasm only rusts your processor," I said cheerily, raising a hand to knock on the door.

A massively-tall mech answered.  "Er, yes?  How may I--  Starscream!"  The mech's face split into a relieved smile as he knelt and hugged the much-shorter mech.  "Oh, thank Primus!  When you disappeared, we were so worried!"  He pulled away and took Starscream by the shoulders.  "Where have you been?!  Your mother is worried sick!  I was worried sick!   You can't just go running off like that!"

Starscream pushed away, angry.  "I'm almost as old as you are, Jetfire.  Don't treat me like a sparkling."

A femme appeared in the doorway behind Jetfire, fumbling with a pair of dark goggles over her optics.  "Starscream?  Is that you, dear?"  She was dressed in a scientist's work-robes, designed to protect her chassis from damage while working with dangerous chemicals or lasers or the like.  Freeing the workwear from her face, she saw me and her visor contorted in confusion.  "...Who are you?"

I stretched out a hand.  "My name's Optronix, ma'am.  I passed Starscream here on the street, helped him out of a tight spot.  After that, I felt like I needed to make sure he was safe, so I escorted him here.  I hope that's okay."

The femme's mouthplate shifted into a smile as she took my offered hand and shook it vigorously.  "That's wonderful!  Thank you so much!  I'm so glad my little 'Screamer is making friends."

"Mother, please."  Starscream's tone was as acidic as it was pleading.  "Goodbye," he snapped, glaring at me over his shoulder as he pushed his way inside, bringing the older scientists with him.  The door slid shut with a quiet hiss, clicking as it locked into place.

"...You're welcome," I sighed, staring at the sealed doorway.  With a shrug, I turned and started back the way we'd come.  It took a little while, thanks to the unfamiliar layout, but soon enough I was back on the street.

#writing quotes meme #my writing #transformers #cosmic wish pretty cure #azure-quill

[putaloadintrucks]

After the events

The Inline Fuel and Café was quiet, more so as the solemn mode hung over the group of vehicles there. The recent events having taken their toll on the group, bringing down most of their spirits as they sat around the pumps. The softly sipped at their drinks, soft mumbles coming from the group as the other regulars sat away from the group, not wanting to upset them any further than they were already. The mood around them did not help them either, as it was an over casted cool day, the sun hidden by the clouds over them, casting the ground in cool grayness.

“Anyone word on when those two will be able to work Rodger?” asked one of the group, A large faded black and silver Semi. One of the group shook their hood, sighing softly in the process.

“No we don’t Ryan; they are on leave until they are cleared to be able to work. It could be a week from now, or a year. We have no idea and it’s starting to bring them down knowing they’re stuck in traction for the future” grumbled the car, an older model Caprice. The other vehicle of the group whined softly, sinking down to its frame as he held the can of Apple oil in front of it.

“I miss Jaslo” he said softly, Rodger giving the smaller vehicle a soft nuzzle as the kid stared at his drink.

“We all do Shayne, Don’t worry. She’ll be back soon. She promised, and after the shit show with her boss, I am pretty sure they will listen to any demands she gives. Who knows huh, maybe she’ll be stationed up it permanently. Wouldn’t that be good?”” Rodger stated, earning a soft whine from the Mustang, all the while Ryan rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get his hopes up Rodger like that; big cities like hers like to fuck over anyone they can. They won’t just bend to what she wants sadly. If we do see her, I’ll be surprised” he grumped, earning a sigh from the Caprice as he sipped some of his drink.

“I know, I can be hopeful right though?” he said softly, sighing. He felt an antenna roll across his hood, softly patting it. He looked up, seeing Ryan give a soft smile as his CB antenna came back into original position.

“It’s alright man, Y’all will pull through this. This valley has seen worse, and you guys will recover from this and be better for it alright?” he stated sharply, earning a nod from the Caprice.

“Thanks Ryan, I appreciate it” Rodger replied, earning a smile from the Semi before he turned his attention to the smaller Mustang.

“How’s the kid doing? I’ve heard from the local rumor mill that he was getting kind of close to the Blazer” he said, a soft whine escaping from Shayne at the mention of Jaslo. Rodger gave him another nuzzle, smiling softly before turning his attention back to Ryan.

“Depends on how the rumor mill is spinning it I suppose, though knowing them it’s a lot more sexual than what was actually happening” he said chuckling as Ryan gave a huff and rolled his eyes.

“Of course it is, they spin anything and make it sexual. For fucks sake they tried to say Vic and Jaslo were fucking. They just blab and blab and cars eat right up as if it’s the god damn fucking truth” he growled, earning a smirk from Rodger.

“I’m not surprised honestly. But Shayne and Jaslo relationship wasn’t anything sexual in nature, if anything I think the kid was starting to see Jaslo as a mom” he started to say, a louder whimper coming from the Mustang next to him. Rodger gave Shayne another nuzzle, purring his engine softly at him to calm the kid back down as tears started to form in his eyes. “It’s gonna be okay Shayne, She’ll be back soon. I promise you that” he softly said, as Shayne sniffled, softly nodding as he tried to hold the tears back. Ryan gave a soft chuckle at the scene, smiling widely as Rodger continue to keep Shayne calm.

“Kid needs it than, Glad Jaslo could be a positive influence on him. Especially with all you deviants at the station” he said smirking as Rodger gave a huff, returning to his drink as Shayne softly sipped his, finally starting to calm back down.

“We ain’t all bad” he mumbled, earning a bark of laughter from the semi.

“ Don’t you lie, The only one I would trust in a dark alley is Vic, I swear you and your brother would jump my chassis if given a chance, and I rather not bash your frames in for that” he smirked, earning a huff from the Caprice.

“You’ll attractive I’ll give you that” he mumbled, yelping as he felt a antenna smack across his hood.

“I appreciate the comment, but I already told ya I don’t swing that way little car. Sorry to disappoint the fantasies again” he stated with a chuckle, Rodger groaning as he focused on his drink, a blush across his hood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me you asshole” he grumbled, Ryan chuckling softly as the cop continued to drink, quite easily embarrassed as he did so.

“So with Vic down than, You the sheriff?” asked Ryan, Rodger sighing in response and Shayne softly shaking his hood.

“No, the county said I was not qualified enough” he grumbled softly as he took a large slurp from the can in front of him.

“They s-said he wasn’t qua-alified enough” mumbled Shayne as he also continued to sip, the sound of a drink almost gone becoming more evident from the boys direction. Ryan tilted softly, a puzzled expression stretched across his eyes and bumper as he looked at Ryan.

“Then who the fuck is the sheriff than, you can’t run a county on one cop around here nowadays. There’s to much traffic around the parts for you to be everywhere Rodger, and your Brother is stuck in traction for at least another month if what you told me is correct” Ryan stated, earning a nod from the Caprice as he frowned.

“That’s why according to them, they will be bringing a temporary replacement from up north of the pass. Some older Ram called Oliver. He’s apparently a new Sheriff in the town up ahead of us here and since they have more than enough cops to patrol the top of the peak, He’s coming down here and helping us for a bit while one of his cops runs his department” Rodger grumbled, earning a long drawn out angry sigh from the Semi.

“Great, a fucking pencil pusher probably. Last thing we need in this valley is someone who has their pipes so far up their own ass they can taste it” he growled, earning a chuckle from Rodger and a soft smile from Ryan.

“Well if he tries and change the things around here, I can guarantee it will not end well. Probably with him dragged into the forest. People around here really like how things are, and the last thing anyone wants is some hotshot trying to change things” replied Rodger, earning a nod from Ryan.

“Oh yeah, Last thing I want is to bust some frames because someone decided the new guy needs to be taught the lesson. Last thing I’m gonna have is someone hurt in my town, especially if it’s Tony from my yard.” barked Ryan, stomping a tire on the ground for emphasis as other cars at the café.

“I know what you mean, I’m not gonna allow people to hurt the new guy, unless he’s a damn asshole. Last thing we need mixed up in all the sexual deviance here is for violence to occur” replied Rodger, earning a nod from Shayne.

“ I do-on’t want any-yone else hurt” he said softly, earning a sigh from both of the larger vehicles, and another nuzzle from the cop as a result.

“Exactly. Last thing anyone else needs is someone to go to jail cause of their stupidity” growled Ryan.

“I agree with you Ryan. I am going to do my best to make sure everything stays right as peaches here in town. I swore on my oath I would do so and I will be damned if anything here tries and change that” Rodger stated, his eyes narrowed in determination. Ryan chuckled, a soft rumble of his engine as he looked at the Caprice.

“Good, we are gonna need that type of attitude here with all the idiots around here” he said sharply.

“Yeah, well anyway I rather not be thinking about that right now. He’s supposed to be here any day now anyway so we’ll see when he gets here” he mumbled, pushing his now empty can of fuel away from him. “How’s the kid doing anyway Ryan, That van that moved here recently? I heard he has been making deliveries all over this mountain”

“ Kids a fucking speed demon that’s what. You order a part and within the hour, no matter where you have it. I’ve heard from some of the loggers further up the pass, way away from any actual roads that the kid has gotten them the part quick as all fucking heck. He is not afraid to bust ass on those trails, and he seems to get a kick outta doing it. Cade is a hard worker, we need more like him around here, instead of all the lazy fuckers that we seem to get nowadays” he replied, pushing his now empty can away as well.

“Well good, if he seems happy that I see no reason to try and stop that. Vic seems to have taken an interest in the kid, also so has Christine if I can remember. They treat him like a member of the family, even though he can’t be that much younger than Christine” quipped Rodger, earning a nod from the truck.

“ It’s a little strange how quick they took to him, but who am I to judge. Kid seems to have an innocence about him anyway, like he’s looking through the world through tinted glasses or something. At the end of the day, as long as he is happy and does his job, I could care less what he is doing” Ryan replied, Rodger shrugging before tossing his and Shayne’s can in the trash.

“I suppose that’s true. Me and Shayne need to head out, gonna have to help those two idiots at the station now fall on themselves. They have been pushing themselves way to hard it seems lately and they are going to reopen their wounds if they don’t stop. Come on Shayne, we need to head out” Rodger stated, Shayne softly nodding following after the Caprice, both turning and rejoining the road upwards to the station. Ryan mused softly, turning his attention to the clock at the café before looking down at the waitress.

“Eh, I have one more drink I guess” he said softly before slowly rumbling over to her to grab another cold drink. Overhead, the clouds began to slowly part, the sun slowly peeking out of the cloud cover, shining areas in the valley with its golden rays.

Like Ryan had said, the valley had experienced worse and had always rebounded back. This valley could and would recover back from this incident, and as a result would shine brighter in the basin.

The sun continued to shine, albit a bit brighter than usual for the residents

#OC: Shayne #OC:Ryan #OC:Rodger #V8 Valley #Cars #Cars OC #Car OC #Cars Fandom #Pixar cars

[itsworn]

Subtly Spectacular 1963 Split-Window Corvette

The 1963 model year saw the very first complete remodel of America’s most iconic sports car: the Corvette. The C2, as us Corvette enthusiasts like to refer to it, was a complete overhaul and a huge step forward in just about every way for this Chevrolet model, but there was one aspect of the new Vette that wasn’t met with open arms: the rear window. It sounds crazy now, but back in the ’60s and ’70s, these things routinely got hacked up with drivetrain swaps and the removal of that “eyesore” of a split-window in favor of glass from a later year C2. Eventually, enough time passed and the midyear Vettes as a whole became highly desirable again and even more to the point, people started to figure out that fewer and fewer 1963 coupes were left intact.

How does the ’63 you see here fit in? Glad you asked. In this Corvette’s not-to-distant past, it was being sold with the claim that it was a real-deal, numbers-matching car, making it highly desirable if the claim were true. Of course, someone jumped on the Corvette and bought it. But, after examining the car they found it was nowhere near a numbers-matching Vette and decided their best course of action was to cut their losses, re-sell the Vette as a “project car” and find something else. The next—and current—owner, Robert Chiusano of Springville, Iowa, was more than happy to take home the car because his plans for it were anything but making it a numbers-matching restoration.

When he found this car for sale, his intent from the beginning was to do a full-on restomod. Given the history of the vehicle and its lack of numbers-matching parts it was the perfect candidate. But to Chiusano, this was much more than just another project car. “To own a 1963 Corvette split-window coupe was a teenage dream, never believing I could or would ever own one. This is about turning dreams into reality,” Chiusano told us. After many years, the finances finally lined up and he was able to start turning that dream into a reality.

To get the project rolling, Chiusano dropped off the split-window at Eddie’s Rod & Custom in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, just down the road from his home in Springville. Over the next 18 months, the guys at Eddie’s Rod & Custom toiled away on the ’63, taking it from a rough roller to the spectacular restomod is it today.

They wanted a strong foundation to begin with so they called up Art Morrison Enterprises (AME) and ordered a full custom chassis for the C2. The chassis came complete with independent front and rear suspension that utilizes JRi coilovers all around. They also ordered the AME chassis with Wilwood 14 1/2-inch carbon ceramic rotors and six-piston calipers. To fit over the sizable brakes, they got hold of an equally sizable set of Hot Rods by Boyd wheels and then shod them in Michelin Pilot Super Sport tires. Up front, the 19×10 rollers are wrapped in 255/35R19 rubber while the 19×12 rears have 325/30R19s.

While they waited for the custom chassis to be built, the guys at Eddie’s Rod & Custom started the extensive bodywork. Chiusano wanted to integrate various subtle details that would add to the overall curb appeal of the car without being immediately noticeable. The list of modifications is long but oh-so-good, starting with custom floorpans, wheelhousings, firewall and access panel in the engine bay. They also fabricated custom front and rear valances as well as heavily modifying the bumpers and bringing them in toward the body by more than an inch. They utilized a few different laser-cut pieces throughout the car such as the “cookie sheet” vents on the ’63 hood, the doorsill plates and the rocker spears. The removal of the windwings and door locks along with a custom floating grille add to the subtle touches that give Chiusano’s Corvette a more modern appearance. Finally, the front and rear windows got a makeover by having their trim removed and the glass flush-mounted. The color Chiusano chose is called Biondi Santi and was painted using Glasurit’s Line 90 paint.

The rest of the Vette is pretty spectacular, but it’s what’s under the hood that just might steal the show. The first thing you notice are the chrome-tipped and horizontally oriented individual throttle bodies. They are custom units from Fox Injection and they feed air to a small-block built by Motorheads Manufacturing in Ely, Iowa. The engine started life in 1965 as a 327, but has now been upgraded significantly with forged pistons and Pro Topline aluminum cylinder heads, giving the engine 10:1 compression. To make use of that extra airflow through the heads, they tossed in a beefy Comp Cams camshaft. An MSD HEI distributor provides the spark for the small-block while Hedman 2 1/2-inch long-tube headers and a 2 1/2-inch custom stainless steel exhaust system built by Eddie’s Rod & Custom evacuate the burned gasses. All these parts working together help the old girl produce right around 500 naturally aspirated horsepower.

Behind the 327 is bolted a six-speed TREMEC T-56 Magnum so Chiusano can enjoy rowing through the gears. Power is transferred aft to a Dana 60 centersection—part of AME’s independent rear suspension—complete with a limited-slip differential and a 3.73:1 rear gear.

When we asked Chiusano what he thought the most unique feature of the car was, he told us it’s the Infinity Box that controls most of the car’s electric functions. The Infinity Box is essentially a substitute for the traditional wiring harness of a car—everything wired runs into this little box. More than just making wiring a little easier, this also allowed Eddie’s Rod & Custom to make everything controllable from an iPad that mounts in the dash, including the headlights, central locking, GPS navigation, sound system, climate control, ignition and interior lighting. In fact, this unit even has its own Wi-Fi signal so you can control everything from your mobile device.

Eddie’s Rod & Custom worked with Gabe’s Street Rod Custom Interiors in San Bernardino, California, to put the rest of the interior together and seamlessly integrate it with this new tech. Eddie’s Rod & Custom first widened the waterfall in the center console 1 1/2 inches to accept the iPad and painted it to match the exterior. Then they installed a Kicker sound system complete with front and rear Kicker Q-Class speakers and subwoofer. They also mounted the Classic Instruments All-American nickel gauges in a custom-airbrushed woodgrain dash sprayed by Scott Takes of Underground Art Studio in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Gabe’s handled all the upholstery, including the custom front seats and rear package area that they wrapped in tan leather. The leather continued on the door panels, atop the dash and down onto the center console.

After the final touches were put on the ’63, some of the Eddie’s Rod & Customs crew, along with Chiusano, loaded the car up and took it to the 2017 Detroit Autorama for its debut. To this day, Chiusano’s most memorable experience with the Corvette was “rolling the car off its trailer and unveiling it to the public eye for the first time. The reaction by the public was nothing short of spectacular.”

So it may not be the numbers-matching car that collectors dream about, but it certainly is the fulfilment of Chiusano’s dream, and for him that’s all that really matters. Vette

The post Subtly Spectacular 1963 Split-Window Corvette appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/subtly-spectacular-1963-split-window-corvette/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

[itsworn]

Behind the Build: Pat Ganahl’s Cross-Country Cruiser Heads Home

Well, as far as South City Rod & Custom is concerned, the Ganahl Model 40 sedan, which Pat has christened “Roadie” (despite the DMV’s backup name, “Roadee”), is now back in Glendale awaiting its finishing touches. As it left his son Bill Ganahl’s shop, all the big had been completed—the metalwork (firewall, floors, and tunnel), complete chassis (from ’rails to brakes and steering), drivetrain (350/700-R4/9-inch), exhaust, and fitting/gapping the sheetmetal. Bill also mounted an underdash Vintage Air unit—minus the electrical and refrigerant—and though he was asked not to for reasons associated with paint prep and application, installed all the glass (Pat’s picky, but it is much easier to paint with the glass out, regardless how the sedan looks rolling down the 101 on the back of a trailer, Bill …).

Now that Pat has the more-door keeping his Deuce roadster and the Iacono inline Jimmy-powered dragster company, the deadline to get Roadie, well, on the roadie, is entirely in his hands. So, not that he doesn’t have his hands full as it is, I’m going to turn the keyboard over to Pat and let him bring this trilogy to an end in appropriate fashion.

“This was Anna’s idea, actually. She wants to go to the Austin Roundup, partly because we love the music, food, and ambiance of that city, and partly because Bill and Sabina are planning to cruise there in the lavender pearl Riviera I just finished painting for them. The problem was that I didn’t have a hot rod that was built to drive to Texas. I never have.

“You see, to me a hot rod is a coupe or roadster, or maybe even an early two-door sedan, stripped down to bare essentials, with a mean stance and sound and at least enough horsepower to back it up. Such cars aren’t built to be comfortable, and they certainly aren’t made to drive across country. Downtown to the malt shop and back is more like it. Or maybe a day-trip up the mountains or out in the country with your best friend to get your hair blown. My hot rods are built for short hops.

“I can’t say I’ve built a lot of such rods, but they’ve all had three pedals and a single fan belt. Parts came from the junkyard, fellow rodders, or parts cars. They didn’t have power anything, and no heater (this is SoCal), let alone A/C. My current Deuce roadster doesn’t even have a radio or windshield wiper, or provision for a top. There are no parts on it newer than 1952. It’s good—fun—for daytrips as far as L.A. to San Francisco (400 miles), but that’s about it.

“I’m proud that it’s traditionally true and accurate. But not only does that mean it’s not practical for road trips, today that also means finding these traditional parts takes scrounging (often on the infernal Internet), and paying big prices and/or rebuilding costs once you find them.”

Fordor Fate

“Anna’s favorite hot rod is a 1934 three-window coupe. She knows hot rods and she’s got taste. Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of money. Plus I fit better in a sedan, where I can push the seat back and maintain headroom. I love full-fendered Tudor Deuces and Model 40s, especially on a good rake. But they’re nearly as pricey as coupes these days.

“Don’t get ahead of me here. I know I’ll never live down the stigma of a certain fat Chevy with too many doors and not enough cylinders. I did the best I could with that car, but it was never a hot rod. I’m glad to say it’s now a fully lifted lowrider—and not mine—which it should have been from day one. But the fact remains that four-door sedans are the least desirable, and therefore most affordable, of all vintage cars. The good news is that the 1933-1934 Ford Fordors, with their four suicide doors and leaned-back front edge, are the best-looking of all, especially when they sit on a nasty rake, with big ’n’ little tires, and a wicked black paintjob. So that was the plan for our ‘road rod.’

“Not only would we get a roof over our head, a good ride, roll-up (tinted) windows, but even a good stereo and—lordy!—air conditioning. Plus I wanted to find a pair of contoured, adjustable front bucket seats like the ones in Anna’s well-used Camry or Accord wagon, which we have driven across the country many times and know to be comfortable (for both of us). The ones I found at Pick-A-Part were in a clean Subaru Outback and cost $40 each.

“Finding a clean 1933-1934 Fordor wasn’t as easy. Browsing sources like Goodguys Gazette, Hotrod Hotline, and Jalopy Journal, I quickly found some candidates in the $12,000 range. I even sent Bill with a trailer to Sacramento to potentially buy one whose owner swore it was an all-original car ‘with just a little rust in the bottom of the doors.’ What Bill found was a mish-mash of cast-off parts recently bolted on a rusted-out frame. The owner actually told him, ‘Guess I’ll have to find a less-knowledgeable buyer.’

“Having looked at a few more with missing parts or rust issues, I soon learned a lesson: pay for pristine. It’s cheaper—and easier—in the long run. And I knew where to find it. Bill McGrath’s Early Ford Store in San Dimas, California, always has a few good ‘finds’ lined up out back. I had seen two nice Fordors there awhile back. But when I got there those were replaced by an amazingly complete, straight, totally rust-free 1933 that had just come out of some long-term indoor storage. I’m talking worn but original seats, mohair, gauges, garnish moldings, glass—even the roll-down shade over the back window. Then to make it more saleable Bill pulled parts off his shelves: new dropped axle, headlights, cowllights, bumpers, taillights, running boards, not to mention a good-running 59A engine with a new carb, headers, Smittys, radiator, gas tank, plus a 1939 trans and fresh 1940 juice brakes. With steel wheels with caps ’n’ rings, quickie lowering, and faded red-oxide primer it looked damn good—and was.

“So I paid a little more than double what the rust buckets were asking, for a complete, driving, no-rust Fordor (a similar coupe would have been twice, if not three times more). Better yet, when it got to Bill’s South City shop, he rolled the complete flathead chassis out from under it and found a buyer to recoup $6,500 of the cost.”

Religious Conversion

“The best part of this whole project, for both Anna and I, is having our son build it in his shop. This is a big first for me, because I am strictly a DIY guy. And traditional. But this car isn’t. I knew what I wanted—basically a Pete & Jakes chassis, as designed by Jim Jacobs for his own 1934 coupe 40-plus years ago, and thoroughly road-tested by him and countless others since. This is essentially the same chassis Roy Brizio puts under the majority of the totally roadworthy early Ford rods he builds, which is of course where Bill cut his teeth learning this business. So Bill knew exactly what I meant when I told him ‘Basically build a P&J chassis for it, just like the ones at Brizio’s.’ And he agreed. And you’ve seen what he’s done in the first two segments of this series. I’m obviously a very happy customer.

“But what really surprises me is how much I have truly enjoyed building what I formerly derided as a 1-800-street-rod. As Rob pointed out in the first story, it’s like a religious conversion. I like it. It’s fun. I don’t have to hunt high and low for period-perfect or numbers-correct vintage parts, and then pay dearly when (and if) I find them. I can choose any components I want and, especially today, be pretty sure that they’re going to work properly and fit with each other, without having to cut, grind, and hand-fit or rework every part. Actually, after telling Bill what I wanted, I let him do the specific ordering because he knows from much experience what fits and what works.

“Of course that still requires plenty of custom hand fitting, cutting, forming, and welding—especially since this is a Fordor sedan—as you have also seen in prior installments. Just one example is the steering. Plenty to choose from. But I’ve known Steve Dennish for years, I like his LimeWorks products, and he had a wheel that resembled the early Vette type I love. So I said, ‘I’ll take that wheel, with that horn button, and that column, with that shaft … send them to Bill.’ Meanwhile Bill had to figure out how and where exactly to mount the front seats I brought him. Then I had to sit in the seat so we could determine the most comfortable location for the wheel and column. And then Bill had to fabricate a custom column drop and floor mount to attach it. That’s 1-800 hot rodding at its best: part bought, part built, and all works perfectly. You can see many more examples on the car.

“What you see here is far from finished, however. I really like the way it looks, just as it sits. I’m particularly happy with the wheel and tire combination and exactly how they sit in the fenders. I told Bill I didn’t want the glass in until I painted the body, but he was adamant to get it installed with the proper channels and massaged regulators to work properly. It does and looks good. So I was seriously considering getting the car running and driving it for a while in its as-found primer, like this. It would be cool.

“But it would require installing and removing a whole lot of stuff (wiring, fuel lines, brake lines, glass, dash/gauges, and so on). So now that it’s finally home, I get to start taking it all back apart and painting it from the frame up. After a little block sanding the outside will be old-school black lacquer (PPG still makes it), with a white top insert to match the wheels. The frame and floorboards will be black, but most of the chassis components will be spray-can hammertone silver or dark gray. I’m thinking a medium gold for the engine with some early script valve covers and maybe a little Vette air cleaner. The interior will be black with white tuck ’n’ roll inserts in the seats and door panels. Chrome will be limited to the grille, windshield frame, and inside garnish moldings.

“Then it’s hitting the highway. Austin, no problem. But we won��t stop there. Anna and I have driven this country’s turnpikes and two-lanes every summer since we’ve known each other. Some retirees say a motorhome is the way to go. Thank you, but we’d prefer motels and a 1933 Ford hot rod.”

We left you hanging last month after Bill had finished hanging—and fitting/gapping—the sheetmetal on Pat’s Fordor, which he’s aptly named “Roadie” (don’t let the plates fool ya). Before the elder Ganahl took re-possession of the sedan, however, there were still a few things left to do before the car left South City Rod & Custom.

One of Pat’s nonconformist (read: not hot rod applicable) options he’s conformed to is having the comfort of interior climate control, which in this case is a Vintage Air Gen II Compac unit. Bill was tasked with not only installing, but doing so without using up a ton of real estate.

In order to situate the plumbing running vertically down the inner firewall, Bill fashioned up a horizontal bulkhead box off the lower edge of his recess.

A vise-mounted Hydra-Kool manual crimper from Mastercool was used to build the A/C lines to the exact desired length …

… and the plumbing routing ensued, with each and every line tucked tight and kept as out-of-sight as possible, when possible. (If you’re wondering why that was such a concern with everything located on the passenger side—Pat won’t be spending every mile traveled behind the wheel; when Anna’s in the driver seat, he preferred having ample room for his longer-than-most legs to stretch!)

And while we’re on the topic of legroom, that too had to be taken into consideration when Bill was setting up the steering. Matter of fact, Pat traveled up to the Bay Area to personally deliver his adjustable bucket seats of choice, to which his son tailor-fit along with the steering while he was there. The wheel and bare column are from Flaming River.

Lastly, although Pat had requested he not do so, Bill convinced his dad that installing the glass and all the related components (new regulators, channels, and so on) be done while he still had the sedan. (Pat initially wanted to forgo the glass install since he’ll be painting the Fordor himself, and wanted to save that till afterward.)

The post Behind the Build: Pat Ganahl’s Cross-Country Cruiser Heads Home appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/behind-build-pat-ganahls-cross-country-cruiser-heads-home/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

[itsworn]

Has Track Safety Gone to Hell?

I was made aware recently of a couple of incidences of complete disregard for safety and/or equipment at a couple of tracks. I won’t go into detail about who or where, you can Google search on Youtube to find videos I’m sure. But in both instances, everyone watching was asking the lead title question.

In the first, the driver got out of a car that had begun to burn. The “fire/safety” truck crew drove up behind the car, downwind of the smoke no less, and then proceeded to watch as the car nearly burned to the ground with no effort to put it out. The driver and a helper from somewhere grabbed fire extinguishers out of the “fire/safety” truck and were able to put out the flames.

It’s one thing to not have adequate equipment available, but to not use what you have? Maybe, in defense of that crew, the lead officials might have told them not to go into dangers way to try to fight the fire. Then why be there in the first place? What if the driver had been in the car, would that crew have waited for a professional fire-fighting crew to arrive? And shouldn’t one of them at least have had a fire suit on?

The reason we have dedicated fire and safety crews at race tracks instead of the community fire trucks and crews is mostly about cost. The professionals have to get paid and it’s not cheap. So, most tracks have their own crews that may or may not be trained and/or motivated to react to a fire or extraction, which leads us to the other incident.

At a dirt track in the mid-west, a racers car rolled over and he was trapped inside. There was no fire, but the driver started to smell fuel leaking and we all know what can happen next. There was, understandably, panic on the part of the driver.

The “fire/safety” crew took every bit of fifteen minutes, from what I was told, to roll the car over. Meanwhile, with a lot of personal effort, the driver did get out on his own. The bystanders were left with that same lead question, what just happened here?

Had the car caught fire, the driver would have been badly burned and possibly killed. In our new kinder and gentler society these days, maybe some of us don’t feel the need to react quickly to serious and dangerous situations. Maybe we need to.

These kinds of “What just happened…” events don’t ever need to happen. Is it the lack of training, lack of caring, or lack of direction? Did we as a society stop caring about other’s lives and property? That is exactly what the bystanders and everyone else who watch such things on video are saying to themselves.

No race is worth a life, period. That is why races get canceled when someone gets killed in a race car. That race just isn’t that important. But accidents will happen and a few racers a year will die. That is a fact we all must live with. But we all want the number of fatalities to be lower or non-existent, don’t we?

That’s why I even bothered to write this, to let everyone who deals with these types of things that it’s time to wake up and do a better job. There are wonderful fire and safety crews out there in greater numbers than the bad ones. Yes, a few bad apples shouldn’t ruin it for the rest of us, but they do.

I hope that lessons have been learned and steps have been taken to correct the obvious lack of concern shown in the above examples. Back in the early days of racing, many fellow crew members would have jumped in to help in both of these situations, but are now restrained from helping. But, you cannot expect them to just stand by and watch what happened.

I guess it’s time to do another track safety story. In addition, we might ask race teams to take a little survey to rate their tracks safety performance/readiness. Then we will post the name of the tracks and the results of the survey. Hey, if the shoe fits?

In fact, let’s get started right now. My email is listed below. If you want to chime in, please tell us your track name and your evaluation of the performance of its safety crew on a scale of one to ten, ten of course being wonderful. We won’t publish your name or any information about you. This is about rating race tracks safety record and performance. Let’s see where this goes.

If you have comments or questions about this or anything racing related, send them to my email address: [email protected] or mail can be sent to Circle Track, Senior Tech Editor, 1733 Alton Parkway, Suite 100, Irvine, CA.

Jacking Effect Discussion

Hi Bob,

Can you explain the jacking effect principal for the front suspension. I have been looking around can’t find much on it.

Thanks, Grant Howard

Grant,

I am really glad you asked. I dove into that subject about a year ago after I saw a video espousing the benefits of it by arguably the “inventor” of that concept who started writing about it some ten years ago. Well, he really wasn’t the true inventor, it was mentioned in the popular book on vehicle dynamics, Race Car Vehicle Dynamics, by William F. and Douglas L. Milliken. He just tried to expand on the concept. I’ll call him Mr. Video because I’m not sure he wants his name used.

In my copy of the 1995 edition of the book jacking is referred to and talked about on page 614. The most important part of the bottom paragraph is the statement, “This is most apparent on older cars with swing axle rear suspensions such as the Formula V.”

The Volkswagen rear suspension was a swing axle design and the outside wheel would jack up under the chassis in a hard turn. This is what they were talking about, not necessarily the double A-arm suspension in the front of most stock cars.

So, after seeing the video, I called Mr. Video and had a little discussion. I told him I could find no significance to Jacking Effect as it relates to the AA-arm suspension, but that I would research it and build a model that would test the results. He asked if I would send him a drawing of the model so he could ascertain if he agreed with the design and I did. He thought it was a wonderful model and would give us the results we were looking for.

I built the model and started testing. I applied the loads at the tire “contact patches” in proportional amounts, like in real cornering. I put 35% of the total force at left tire and 65% of the total in the right tire in weighted buckets that pulled on the contract patch horizontally. The chassis was restrained at the Center of Gravity. I then measured the roll angle to record a measure of roll resistance, which is the only measure we have. Remember that Mr. Video agreed with the method and fixture I was using. Here are the results.

In the model, I could set upper and lower arm angles in many different configurations, but starting out, I used common arm angles that we would see on a typical modern asphalt super late model. When I applied the force, I got a roll angle of 6.0 degrees.

I then put 100% of the lateral force loading on the left tire and 0% on the right tire. The roll angle was again 6.0. Then I put 100% of the loading on the right tire and 0% on the left tire and got 5.9 degrees. So, basically, I got no difference in roll angles and/or roll resistance from huge differences in lateral load distribution on the tire contact patches.

What that serves to do is dispute the theory of Jacking Force dynamics as it is being preached. I reported the results to Mr. Video and then took the model to a neutral spot near where he lives and a place that specializes in vehicle dynamics testing, Morse Measurements in Salisbury, NC with Bob Simons. There we all did the experiments with similar results.

So, Grant, I don’t think much of the theory of jacking force having tested and proven it to be of no consequence. But those of us who live and breathe vehicle dynamics and work with race cars on-track will tell you that there is definitely something to roll center/instant center location associated with control arm angles. What we suggest, and coincidentally what proponents of JF suggest for moment center/instant center placements are in agreement. Isn’t that all we need to know?

Spotters Causing The “Big One”

Bob,

I believe spotters cause as many wrecks as they prevent. At NASCR super speedways the call from the spotter, “he has got a run on you”, is causing the driver to try and block causing the big one.

I believe the radios should be shut of the last 20 laps so the drivers have to drive and not block. NASCAR can have a frequency to radio to all drivers if there is a safety concern.

Clem Zahrobsky

Clem,

I don’t agree with you in concept. Granted, there might be a problem at times on super speedways, but the blame for “the big one” could be put in a lot of places. I know for a fact that spotters save many more incidents than cause them.

In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find any spotter who has actually caused a wreck. The spotters I know take their duties seriously and would never put the driver in a situation that would/could cause a wreck.

I could name off many instances of spotters saving a situation and this response could go on and on. Suffice it to say, most, if not all, spotters do their jobs well and continually keep aggressive driver from making bad decisions.

Ty’s Throttle Control

Bob,

I just read your April, ‘17 article on the Hot Rod network about Ty Majeski. Sounds like he and Jimmie Johnson came from the same mold. Both of these guys have mastered the art of throttle control, corner entry and exit strategy.

What you wrote about Ty I could visualize Jimmie doing the same. Thanks for the review. I now know who will succeed Jimmie when he retires next year.

John Dimmick

John,

Throttle control is a well-kept secret among the very elite drivers in history. I recently heard a very successful past racer who is now a consultant say, “there are a thousand positions in that throttle pedal.”

The late Dale Earnhardt, Sr. showed his skill one time in a test at Richmond. I heard this first hand from a data specialist who was working for a newer Cup team at this test. He said their regular driver was about a half second slow of the best times. The owner apparently knew Earnhardt and asked him if he would take the car out for a few laps to see if he could help them find the problem.

He took the car out and soon had made up the half second. He brought it back in and said it felt pretty good to him and walked away. I asked the data guy who was telling me this story, so what is the punch line?

He said in the data he had from both runs, their drivers throttle “curve” looked like the Manhattan skyline. He was either on or off the throttle with no in-between. On Earnhardt’s curve, it was actually a curve. He rolled off the throttle and then rolled back on and that was worth a half a second in lap times. So, there ya go. I‘m sure Jimmie Johnson knows something about throttle control too.

Brake Bias Tech

Good morning,

My name is Dan and I’m building a pro stock dirt car. I’m on the brake system right now and I had a friend help who has been at this for several years of building and racing cars. When he put the pedal assembly together he put together a Wilwood pedal and master cylinder.

The front master cylinder bore is 7/8ths and the rear is 1″. He also attached a 10lb residual check valve to both the front and rear MC’s. I installed a pressure gauge for bias adjustment to know exactly how much pressure is front and rear. When trying to adjust to mostly rear brake the best I can get is equal pressure front and rear.

With the balance bar in neutral position I have more front brake. Should I have both MC bore sizes the same to be able to adjust my bias better from front to rear? Also with the 10lb residual check valve, I know those are designed for drum brakes not disc.

After talking to my friend, he said with the 2lb there was too much pedal travel. My concern is there will be too much brake drag and heat the brakes up too much. Should I change back to a 2lb or stay at the 10lb. Also, the master cylinders are above the horizontal plane of the calipers.

Thank you, Dan Wilson

Dan,

Your main problem is the master cylinder size, they are backwards. If you want more rear brake, switch the masters and put the smaller one on the rear brake side. The smaller size bore develops more line pressure with equal foot pressure.

I’m not sure about the residual check valve, but if they are made for drum brakes, they might not be a good idea for an asphalt car. You can ask your Wilwood brake distributor and they will help you decide if you need that.

As to the location of the master cylinders above the calipers, a good bleeding of the brake lines will clear any air, no matter where the masters are located. Maybe you have air in your lines and that is why you have so much pedal travel.

The post Has Track Safety Gone to Hell? appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/track-safety-gone-hell/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network